Fair
by Gondalier
Summary: The war is over, but politics in Gallia beg the question: Just how many lives *does* a cat have?
1. Chapter 1:  Catfight

"Ah, Lyre, good morning. I was hoping I'd find you."

The cat laguz looked up from admiring the contents of her open satchel, quickly stuffing the bag behind her back and stifling a smart remark. Just the way she wanted to start what was working itself into a promising day: a conversation with her dear friend Kyza. Noting his path of travel, she abandoned all pleasantries. "Were you speaking with Captain Ranulf?"

If Kyza absorbed the painfully obvious panorama of suspicious behavior and botched manners, he refrained from comment. Instead, a confident smile spread across his face. "Indeed, and it was because of our dialogue that I was just looking for you."

"How convenient!" Kyza's agreeable "dialogues" with Ranulf usually boded ill for Lyre. The two constantly vied for their superior's attentions. Any victory therefore heralded an equal and opposite defeat. That her coworker seemed particularly cheery on this occasion only served to fortify an already established collection of red flags as far as she was concerned. It was now only a matter of discovering the extent of said damage and the repairs needed to remedy the foregone conclusion to Kyza's announcement.

"The Captain will be absent for a few days on a foreign relations assignment with his Majesty."

"Oh."

While she was not surprised by the news, hearing it was slightly disappointing regardless. Not that Ranulf ever stayed in the capitol for extended periods of time. Skrimir, the new king, was far too restless to manage all of his duties without regular frolics beyond the confines of stone walls and bureaucrats. Ranulf, though often obviously taxed to the limits of his patience by the king's flippant ways, indulged the monarch of these holidays. Rumor had it he believed the excursions necessary to promote the welfare of Skrimir's subordinates and, by extent, Gallia in general. Besides, the captain made a point of turning most of the trips into learning experiences.

But this was no reason for Kyza to act so pleased with himself unless he had developed a sadistic streak, which Lyre doubted. The man may be insufferable sometimes—frequently—but it was all in pursuit of personal gain, not in dashing her hopes causelessly. So why that dopey grin?

"That's all? Well, he sure makes a point of disappearing a lot. We need him here, too."

Kyza stiffened, mirth vanishing. "Captain Ranulf knows what he's doing. You can be most certain his continued absences are in the best interests of all—"

"I know! Sheesh. It's just annoying sometimes, OK?" Biting her lip in frustration, she pressed on. "I'm not saying it's bad or anything. Of course it's all for the best, he's needed everywhere, it's selfish to confine him to the capitol with us, I get it!"

"Oh, then it appears I digress needlessly." The smile was back in place, apparent indication that Kyza's interests in further debate on this particular topic were approximately nil. Another surprise, as he typically insisted on drawing any discussion of His Almighty Captain-ness to ridiculous lengths.

Suddenly tired and vaguely flustered, Lyre decided that her interests in any more debate at _all_were _very_ nil. With a sigh, she put a hand on her hip. "What a surprise. Well, if there's nothing more you wanted to talk to talk about..."

"There is one last thing: simply that your duties will be relaxed until the Captain's return."

"As usua—" With a start, Lyre stuck out her tongue. "And you mean _our_ duties, messenger boy."

"There was no such grammatical error in my statement."

"Wh—"

Then it all hit home.

The fatigue drained from her system faster than Kurthnaga, the Goldoan dragon king, could level a castle. Rails torn from beneath her train of though, the sputtering cat laguz found coherency suddenly elusive. "Wh-what?"

Kyza continued with galling formality. "His Majesty Skrimir and Captain Ranulf will naturally be escorted by the royal guard, but in addition, our captain has selected a handful from his own company to join the entourage. He hopes to broaden their experience in both on-site duties and diplomatic affairs. I was just informed that I'm amongst those delegated."

"_You?_" Lyre shifted into response-autopilot while she struggled to reign in her emotions long enough to give Kyza a piece of her mind. Once she found it again.

"As I said. It's quite an honor."

"_YOU?_"

"Erm, yes," the tiger laguz repeated. "You sound surprised."

"'_Surprised?_'" She almost spat the word. "Of course I'm surprised! Why would he choose _you_?"

"I assume it's because of my exceptional military record and dependability."

"I've got one of those, too! And a lot more more qualifying qualifications!"

If her blown emotional Richter scale had not been comical enough, the sheer absurdity of this last statement in every conceivable way tipped the precarious balance of Kyza's calm. Closing his eyes, he reached a hand to his face, shoulders quivering.

Lyre gaped, color flooding her cheeks. Did the insensitive clod find the situation _funny_?

With a racking breath, Kyza shook his head and tried to meet her gaze after a brief pause.

He had overestimated his composure.

"Do tell!" He finally managed through the ensuing guffaw.

An overwhelming urge to scream and claw that idiotic grin right off his face flooded through Lyre. Restraining herself, she settled for just screaming.

"At least I'm not an insensitive, friendless brown-noser who thoughtlessly flaunts all of my achievements because that's the only way I can feel good about myself!"

"Hah, _I'm_ the brown-noser? No doubt it was just a harmless coincidence your trajectory _happens_ to land you in the vicinity of Captain Ranulf's office while you also _happen_ to be carrying on your person a satchel of pastries?"

Too late, Lyre discovered that she had wholly overlooked her parcel amidst the heat of their argument had been obtusely waving it about along with her interjecting hand motions. Not that it would have mattered much anyway, she recalled also with chagrin—any beast laguz worth their mettle could literally smell through such an inane attempt at secrecy.

"I thought he might be hungry!"

"Homemade, I'll wager."

"Shut up!"

Thoroughly humiliated, Lyre swiveled an about-face and stalked briskly down the cobbled hallway before the other could muster adequate vocabulary to shove her foot deeper down her already sore throat. Her morning a disaster, she was unwilling to permit this day to dissolve into further ruin by allowing the arrogant fool to see her cry.

Kyza could be so dense!

* * *

Lyre could be so temperamental. Kyza had just beheld more mood swings from that girl in the last five minutes than he exhibited in a year.

Ridiculous, really.

Regardless, as he bewilderedly watched her stalk down the hallway, it struck him that triumph did not taste quite as sweet as he had anticipated.

* * *

_Thump!_

With a startled hiss, Lethe winced and glared quickly from the hand planted on her combat training report to the face hovering over her desk. "Lyre! What do you want?"

If she had not been so preoccupied, Lyre would have undoubtedly taken this opportunity to tease her older sister. It was unusual for Lethe to be so unaware of her surroundings that an intrusion of this caliber would merit a snapped pen and bushy tail. The other laguz was renowned for her battle prowess and keen senses throughout Gallia. She had vigorously worked her way through the ranks of the fearsome Gallian army and now boasted command of a unit of her own. Consequently, such a slip could easily provide fodder for taunting for days to come, perhaps even leverage for a few little favors.

However, Lyre's mind was otherwise engaged with more important concerns.

Namely, her own problems.

"It's not fair!"

"No, it's not! I'm going to have to re-write my report now, thank you very much!" Still red in the face, Lethe scowled darkly at the ink that now adorned her fingers and document in shiny dark smudges.

Lyre's hand remained firmly planted. "Don't you care about me at _all_?"

Snapping her writing hand into a flex, Lethe let bits of feather pen detach themselves meaningly from sticky fingers. "It's hard not to give you at least a little thought when you plant yourself in the middle of my work without so much as a knock on the door."

"The door was open!"

"That doesn't mean you can just barge in and cause catastrophes!"

Lyre bridled defensively. "I'm more important than your dumb paperwork!"

Her sister shot out of her chair. "This had _better _be important, Lyre!"

"_GWARRR!"_

Lethe, already harried, stiffened at this second assault on her concentration. Lyre, also surprised this time, yanked her hand from the table and gave a little yip as she whirled around to face the doorway.

"Grr, always fighting! You two behave more like enemies than family!"

The familiar voice belonged to a reprimanding blue tiger laguz who stepped into the sunny office. His tread might have seemed surprisingly light for his hulking size, but this phenomenon was nothing noteworthy amongst the Gallinas who, on the whole, possessed all the grace of any archetypical cat.

Defense mode fully activated, Lethe prepared to snappily lecture her subordinate about meddling in the affairs of others but was cut short at "Y—." With one look at the patient concern on the big man's face she sighed and settled for a relatively civil greeting.

"Mordecai."

Mordecai echoed her sigh with a deep rumble in his broad chest and allowed his frame to relax. The effect his presence imposed on the situation was almost instantaneous; Lethe could already feel the rage seeping unbidden from her body. Sometimes it peeved her that Mordecai could so completely dampen her fiery passion, but she conceded privately that his disposition had prevented bad blood and needless pain on more occasions that she cared to recall.

Besides, it was just hard to be angry for very long with someone like Mordecai—even for someone like Lethe.

When the tiger laguz offered no further response and it became apparent that Lyre was not willing to share any comments that would undoubtedly solidify her membership amongst Those Chastised, Lethe took the initiative to head-off a guilty silence in the making. "Did you need something?"

"Hrrm, not exactly." Mordecai reached a muscular arm over his shoulder to rub the light blue scruff on the back of his neck and glanced sideways almost sheepishly. "I just thought it might be good to talk with you before someone else did."

Lethe tried not to blush at the insinuation. He was right, of course; it _was_ a good thing their catfight had been put to a speedy close before higher powers became involved… again. "Ah, of course. My thanks."

"Hmmm, yes."

It was difficult to feel serious with a stiff hand full of a goopy feather and ink concoction held awkwardly away from her side. Lethe commended herself that she pulled off the attitude convincingly, considering the circumstances. "You have no further need for worry. The situation is under control. Lyre and I will resume our personal discussion at some other time." Lethe felt a ping of satisfaction to see her sister's shoulders tense at this last statement.

"This is good," Mordecai met her set gaze with a wide smile. "I will leave now."

"Bye."

Lyre sulkily added a muttered good-bye as the big laguz turned and squeezed himself through the doorway and into the hallway beyond. Both sisters listened to his receding footsteps in silence. Lyre did not shift her position, so while Lethe was graced with an oh-so-pleasant view of her sister's back she was unable to read the girl's expression. She briefly considered rewarding such childish behavior with a prompt return to re-writing her notes.

Her conscience suckered her begrudgingly out of that plan.

"Lyre."

Silence.

Grimacing, Lethe counted to five silently before trying again. "Lyre!" It came out snappy anyway.

The girl snorted and, without turning, responded in painful monotone, "_What_ dearest sister?"

The bait was tempting. Lethe could already feel the recent anger tugging at its fragile tether, but she distanced herself from her emotions and declined the challenge with some effort. "We'll talk later."

"Whatever you say."

Lethe had had about enough of the evasive crap, but she was unwilling to spark another heated and potentially time-consuming discussion. "Good."

When Lyre still did not budge Lethe settled back into her seat and reached for a nearby stack of blank parchment. Her fingers were dry now and she was not inclined to wash up quite yet. Perhaps she would reward herself with that indulgence after a few paragraphs, though it would be nice to finish up the whole document without interruption and just get it done…

Discussion over.

"I guess I'll be going now," Lyre continued in the monotone. Without so much as a backward glance, she stepped lightly across the room with a soft sway of her hips, head high, and made her exit like a princess.

Leaving the door open, of course, Lethe noted. She waited a few minutes, forcing herself to nonchalantly look for a pen and print a heading on her fresh paper, then bounded out of her chair and shut the door purposefully when she was certain Lyre was gone.


	2. Chapter 2: Cat Burglars

"Blast that girl," Lethe muttered darkly as she traipsed loudly down the cobbled hallway, nigh oblivious to the rays of sunlight that emanated from a sherbet sunset and streamed between ancient, moss-encrusted pillars that lined the palace walkway. Fifteen minutes tended to feel much more like and hour when they were spent searching for one's truant sister while being exhausted and wishing only to go home and collapse. Earlier, Lethe had approached Ranulf concerning Lyre's check-out records to determine that bookkeeping indicated Lyre's continued presence about the training grounds, though Ranulf himself had not seen the girl for a while. But Lethe was developing a sinking suspicion that her twin had shirked her duties and even skipped signing out before returning home—if that was even where she would go, considering her earlier conduct.

So at this point, the last thing Lethe cared to pay attention to was something pleasant, like a sunset or moss or pretty architecture or rainbows and bunny rabbits.

Blast sunsets, too.

And in addition to conducting a dubious search, there was the issue of Lyre's potential volatility upon discovery, which made having to look for her extra fun. Amidst her daily doses of slogging through paperwork and supervising drills and keeping her unit out of too many squabbles, Lethe had considered what could have put Lyre into such an attitude. Of course the girl was immature by nature, but today's outburst had proved surprising. She had been off about something "unfair," but had not_ that _been the start of many of her little spasms. In all likelihood it was over some trivial group project with Kyza in which the two would be forced to actually cooperate for once in their lives.

Not counting the war, of course. And Lethe didn't.

She mounted a set of stairs two at a time, scanning the battlement at the top mechanically, a scowl plastered across her pixie-like features. Regardless of its cause, now the issue was undoubtedly blown out of proportion and Lethe had inadvertently become involved because her office hours restricted unscheduled griping time.

Maintaining enough awareness to nod to a patrolling tiger laguz who nervously threw a hand to his forehead in salute, she swiveled and started down the length of the wall…

With a quick about-face on the balls of her feet, Lethe pointed to the soldier menacingly. "Hey, you! Seen Lyre around?"

The man seemed confused and ill-at-ease. "N-no, lieutenant, sir! Mam!"

With a growl, Lethe narrowed her eyes. Just wait until that girl got a piece of her mind… she glanced up to notice the guard still staring at her. "You got a problem?" she snapped.

"No, mam!"

"Then as you were!" Dismissing him, she continued her tromp down the length of the wall. Thankfully for Lyre, she was nowhere to be found on that stretch of parapet. As Lethe rolled her eyes and prepared to give up the whole wall notion—it was much more likely Lyre had simply headed home, and, if not, would have to soon anyway—she noticed a blue blur perched in a secluded corner of the thick castle battlements. Mordecai.

It vaguely occurred to her that maybe talking with Mordecai would clear her head and provide her a friendly venting outlet. He had proved helpful earlier, after all.

Besides the fact that she was tired of pacing about like a caged dog with only a handful of nonplussed castle guards to show for the effort.

"Got a minute, Mordecai?" She asked as she approached and kneeled stiffly beside her big friend.

"Hrmm, of course," Mordecai rumbled in calm response. Shifting his body, he opened his eyes and turned to give her his full attention. A little abashedly, Lethe realized that she might have interrupted a meditation session.

"I can wait."

"That is not necessary. What bothers you, little one?"

Exhaling, Lethe threw her arms behind her and leaned back, pressing her leather-gloved palms into the cool rock and tracing the cracks and fuzzy green moss absently with her fingers. It struck her suddenly that she was not very good at this being emotionally honest stuff, but she had determined to get a second opinion. A _safe_ second opinion. And who better than her old friend Mordecai, who also happened to be conveniently involved already? "It's Lyre. She's being unreasonable again. You were there earlier." Looking upward noncommittally, she pursed her lips. If she wanted help and she wanted it fast and painlessly… "Was I wrong?"

Mordecai turned to look over the wall thoughtfully, eliciting a mental sigh from his smaller companion who knew all too well what that indicated.

"I did not see everything…"

"Be honest, Mordecai."

"You both were very angry. No one thinks very well when they are angry."

Lethe smirked. "Especially me." It wasn't a question.

Mordecai refrained from answering right away, though a faint smile played at his lips in response at her characteristic frankness. "Mmmm, yes."

Lethe's expression dropped. "She's so frustrating sometimes. She's like an adolescent girl, never making any sense, wearing her every emotion on her sleeve!"

"Grrr, she's still young. Give her time."

"She's as old as I am." With an exasperated laugh Lethe leaned forward and stared vacantly at the orange-yellow sky. "Half the time I don't even know what's wrong with her. How am I supposed to fix her problems when she won't tell me what they are?"

Mordecai glanced in her direction with an understanding smile. "There are some problems you can't fix."

"That's highly encouraging. Unfortunately, her issues tend to complicate _my_ life, too. I can't just let them be."

Lethe was sure Mordecai was going to pull a troubled look and reprimand her, but instead he said, "Maybe you're thinking about this badly."

"How so?"

"You are treating things like they are, hrrrm… battle plans. Consider all the factors and you will find the right solution. Only figure it out with some sense and logic. But she is your sister, not a battle plan."

Lethe smirked. "So, how do you solve sisters?"

Mordecai chuckled deeply. "I do not know. Just remember that Lyre is not you. She does not see things the way you do."

"Oh, I know _that_," Lethe replied immediately. No duh. But out of curiosity, she felt compelled to add, "How do you mean?"

Mordecai furrowed his brow, but another voice replied before he could organize his thoughts.

"She's considerably less calloused and heartless."

Turning swiftly, Lethe glared at the fool who dared intrude upon her rather personal confession session. Her eyes were immediately assaulted by a familiar kaleidoscopic combination of bright oranges, blues, and greens. "Ranulf, a pleasant surprise."

"I was going to say 'practical,'" Mordecai offered in consolation.

"It does have a certain tact to it," Ranulf conceded with a nod to the tiger laguz.

"Maybe you two should switch jobs. I don't see your sort of diplomacy being a healthy influence on Skrimir." Lethe's eyes narrowed. "Ranulf, how much of that did you hear?"

Ranulf lifted his hands in mock surrender. "Ouch, easy. Just that last part there, couldn't pass up an opportunity to give my favorite lieutenant a hard time."

Snorting, Lethe turned away from Captain Kitty in disgust to stare into the dying sunlight.

"Silent treatment, eh?"

"Ranulf, shut up. Don't you have underlings to order around or something useful to be doing?"

"C'mon, I'll bet I could help." Flashing a winning smile, he settled into a casual cross-legged stance on the stone wall next to her.

"Ha, you kidding? You'd make it worse."

Ignoring her, Ranulf held his expression. "My, isn't the sunset gorgeous tonight. Simply lights up your pinched profile there in its poetic orange glow."

Lethe groaned in wide-eyed exasperation. Let the record stand that she was never confiding in others ever again and that she did just fine, thank you, solving her personal problems on her own.

She would have shared that little discovery with Ranulf if she hadn't glared in his direction expecting to wipe a mocking expression right off his cocky face.

…Except that there wasn't a mocking expression. Although the smile seemed a permanent fixture to his lean face, behind his eyes were just curiosity and something else she couldn't quite pin down at a glance. A wary openness? Regardless, she found herself biting her lower lip and lowering a few mental defenses as the words died in her mouth.

"Fine. Lyre's all worked up over something again. And she's all defensive and whiny and closed off about it, again. And I'm supposed to deal with this somehow, again. Family problems; nothing new but always frustrating." She shifted her intent gaze at a funny yellow cloud to glance at Ranulf. "What's the guru's sage advice?"

Ranulf stared absently at the ground in front of him in thought, arms draped carelessly over his crossed legs. Then, with a start, he leaned back and stretched.

"I think you need to relax."

Lethe's eyes narrowed dubiously. "Put a lot of thought into that one, didn't you?"

Ranulf leaned over with a quick laugh. "I'm totally serious! I swear, I wouldn't be caught within ten yards of someone who surprised you right now. You'd claw them to pieces before you even saw who it was!"

Lethe's expression increased in _dubious_. "What?"

"You're tense and angry and it's affecting your judgment," Mordecai translated from her other side.

"Exactly!" the laguz captain agreed.

"I wouldn't—"

"And what better way to relax than food," Ranulf continued, smacking a fist into his other open palm and obviously no longer paying attention to what anyone else was presently saying. With a mischievous grin, he turned to Lethe. "Kitchen raid!"

"What?"

The other was already standing up. "C'mon, before they close for the evening and everything's gone."

"You're _serious_," Lethe spat incredulously.

"I'm _always_ serious. Mordecai, you coming?"

Mordecai smiled and waved a big hand in mild send-off. "Hrrm, I'm good out here. You two go ahead."

"Suit yourself." Ranulf offered a green-gloved hand to Lethe. "Uppy uppy."

"Ranulf, aren't we a little old for 'kitchen raids?'"

The other snorted. "Bah, by dragon standards we're barely children. You wanted my help and here it is. Live a little!"

She couldn't argue with that little sparkle in Ranulf's heterochromatic eyes. And before she did anyway, Lethe exhaled sharply and took his hand. As he helped her up she pointed at him accusingly. "For the record, your help was unsolicited."

"Details, details." Ranulf's body glowed momentarily and he shifted into his lithe blue cat form. Giving himself a shake, he cocked his head in the direction of the staircase.

The probable diminishment of her reputation fluttered briefly through Lethe's mind. This was likely one of the stupidest things she had ever done… But she brushed the thought aside and was promptly shifted, bounding on all fours down the parapet after Ranulf.

* * *

"Feel better?"

After a mostly successful raid, the cat burglars had taken to the myriad of courtyards and passageways in the direction of Ranulf's office to finish off their spoils. The sun had set and a grey twilight now seeped into the stonework of the castle, bringing with it the obligatory night quiet that accentuated footsteps on the cobblestone. Most of the staff had returned to their homes, though a night guard and an obligatory steady stream of housekeeping personnel still roamed the corridors in intervals.

Lethe snorted in response, licking a finger. "Probably better than you, though my reputation may have taken a lethal blow. How's the hand?"

Ranulf, who had already downed his tart, held his hand before his face and flexed it with mock mourning. "Developing a battle-bruise worthy of our cause even as we speak."

"You should consider recruiting that cook. Not only are her reflexes legendary but she might prove a worthy training partner for our Captain."

Ranulf's teeth glinted as a smile spread across his face. "Har har."

They lapsed into silence and Lethe took the opportunity to finish her snack. If she were to sum up how she felt at that moment, "surreal" seemed an appropriate term. She never acted like she had this evening. Ever. It felt much like how coming to terms with working with the beorc had felt during the Mad King's War.

"You know," Ranulf broke the quiet, interrupting her thoughts. "If you're as honest with Lyre as you were with me earlier, I think everything should go smoother than you think it will. She may be emotional, but she's not stupid and she loves you."

Lethe stared at him blankly.

"How's that for advice?"

"It's… okay."

"Yeah, it took me a while to come up with such sage words of wisdom, but I hope it's up to par with the Great Lethe's standards," Ranulf continued, dissipating the suddenly serious atmosphere. Lethe noticed abruptly that he had stopped walking; they had reached his office. He thumbed at the door. "So… I'd better wrap things up here and turn in. Have a discussion with my unit tomorrow for the trip and it would be a bummer to miss my own spiel by oversleeping."

Lethe crossed her arms with a snarky smirk. "I don't think they'd mind too much."

Ranulf snorted. "Yeah, you may have a point there."

"…Hey, Ranulf?"

"Hmm?"

"Thanks."

"Oh ho, she deigns to thank me?"

"Don't let it go to your head, idiot. Way to ruin the mom—"

"Hah, you're welcome." Ranulf grinned, reaching over impulsively to lightly chuck her shoulder before turning to open the door. "'Night!"


	3. Chapter 3: Catnap

Lethe would have been pleased to discover that Lyre had not, in fact, met her expectations and deserted her duties. Yes, she had been angry, and yes, the thought had crossed her mind—though she would conveniently try to push that little detail out of her memory before she was undoubtedly grilled by her bossy brat of a twin sister for being home late—but Lyre _had_ completed her drills. And as it was not her shift to patrol the castle that day and she was not currently involved with any other projects—boy, it sucked to be off duty, everything was so boring—the golden opportunity of leaving legitimately early had been waved tantalizingly before her face relatively early in the afternoon. Still miffed from earlier ill-humored conversations, she did not feel particularly in proper spirits to have a good time with her girl friends who had likewise worked a short day. So she declined their offer to hit the town and hang out and instead was left with the daunting prospect of time-management.

As she waved bye to her friends and wished them a good time behind a bright smile that inversely reflected her disposition, she lapsed back into considering an idea that had been incubating in her mind since Kyza's rather boorish display of insensitivity earlier that morning. It was simple, really. If Kyza could be "selected" for some ambassador meeting or whatnot, then why not her as well? And especially if she showed genuine interest! Heck, she was just as qualified as anyone else—especially Kyra—to be put into Ranulf's special task-force.

And so she had determined to speak with Ranulf herself. With her training completed and duties being negligible for the rest of the day, the trick had then lain in catching Ranulf during one of his breaks.

Or in finding him, for that matter. Upon discovering his office empty and locked Lyre had henceforth conducted a half-hearted search of the castle grounds in hopes that she might stumble upon the Captain. It was one of those times when her relatively low status in the Gallian army proved to be rather irksome. Being only a foot soldier of no outstanding rank, Lyre found that many places she would have liked to check for the Captain were off-limits to her. She would have sneaked past the guards if she had been sure of a lead, but as things currently stood the success of such a venture seemed doubtful at best and backfireable at worst.

And with that second attempt of locating Ranulf trampled beneath the feet of military hierarchy, Lyre had found herself once more hopefully knocking at his office door, now more tired and cranky for her efforts. She'd be sure not to display either attitude should her hopes be not in vain.

But vain they were. After waiting for what seemed an eternity, Lyre had impulsively opened the door and stepped into the empty office, closing the door behind her quickly with a hollow _thunk_.

If she couldn't find him, then she'd just wait for him to find her.

She was sure that that must have been the reasoning, if any, behind her rash decision. But now that she stood in the middle of Ranulf's empty office, the entirety of her trespass set in. Her composure wavered. What was she doing?

But the decision was made and she was going to get what she wanted. Furrowing her brow to dispel some of her unease, Lyre strode on small, quiet feet across the pretty rug in the middle of the room and plopped herself into a low, simple couch against one of the side walls. As Ranulf was of high rank in the King's service, he was allowed more expansive quarters than other soldiers. His relatively small office size indicated that Ranulf had taken little, if any, advantage of these occupational perks. _He deserves better all right,_ Lyre noted, her finger tracing the tribal patterns on her seat cushion. At least he took the couch.

She leaned back and crossed her heels nervously. What would she say? She had abandoned the tart enterprise completely after her run-in with Kyza and now had no handy conversational intro. Not that that was what the tarts had been for, of course…

"Ho-kay," she muttered to herself. Adopting a still quiet but perkier tone, she glanced up and focused on the mess of papers, books, candles, and decorations on Ranulf's desk.

"Hey, Captain! So, I heard you were…" She scowled. "No, no." She continued deliberately. "Captain Ranulf, I was looking all over for you!" Smile. Darn, that sounded a lot like something Kyza would say. Just not as stuffy.

Well, he always got what he wanted, so why not?

"You see, I was wondering if you could help me out. We've been at the capital for so long that I feel my… diplomatic skills have suffered from disuse." That sounded good. "And I heard about your trip in a few days and was wondering if maybe you could squeeze me in there, too? Pretty please?"

Silence. It felt odd to be talking to an empty room. Ranulf's empty room.

Lyre bit her lip. She had every right to be here, didn't she? This _was _work-related, after all.

Still…

"Grrrrr, stupid Kyza, this is all your fault!"

* * *

Lyre woke to voices.

Shooting upward with a start, the girl looked around frantically at her surroundings, hackles rising. It was dark outside of a spacious set of vaguely familiar windows, the stars twinkling gleeful laughter at her discomposure. There were no lights in her little room, and her feline eyes took a moment to adjust. And this was no bed, it was a couch. Where was she?

Oh, right. She must have catnapped...

It took some rapid blinking and a few startled heartbeats for the confusion to effectively drain from her mind. Then she remembered the voices. In momentary panic, she froze statue-still and strained her orange tabby ears. While the logical part of her brain was still making up for lost time, her instincts were well-honed and ready to propel her out of that window at a second's notice.

There was a lull in the conversation before the cat laguz could properly identify the voices. She held her breath.

Voice again. Ranulf's voice. Lyre felt herself relax, but only a little. If someone else were to show up, too… she did not even want to consider what could happen. Needless to say, her motives would be questionable. And what if Ranulf got angry?

She glowered fiercly. No no no no no! What was the matter with her? She would play it cool, it _was_ cool. She had a legitimate reason to be here. Business. Ranulf would be delighted to see that she was interested in his military projects and it hardly mattered if the whole army showed up for all she cared. This was important! And she knew exactly what she was going to say. _Ah, Captain Ranulf…!_

What if the other person was Kyza?

Darn it, she was spacing out!

Ah, other voice.

It was… a girl?

For the span of a heartbeat, Lyre was too surprised to catch anything else. A cold heat washed over her body, starting at the top of her head and sweeping to the tip of her limp tail. What was he doing talking with a girl, especially this late?

…Well, sure, why not? Ranulf worked with girls. But he never talked with them much, not really. And not this late. He was so busy. She would know.

It was suddenly very important that Lyre discover who owned the female voice just outside of the closed office door.

It was also suddenly equally—well, almost equally—important that she inch closer to the window. The likelihood of Ranulf being happy to discover an eavesdropper was lessening with alarming speed. The swaying trees just outside looked more and more welcoming and it was only a two story drop to the ground below. No one would be the wiser if she was quiet enough. And if no guard patrolled nearby. She glanced apprehensively over her shoulder but could not detect any sound or movement through the tangle of leaves and branches.

The captain's voice drew her attention back to the conversation a few yards away. He sounded strangely open. Lyre listened attentively. The other voice seemed so familiar, but it was spoken in such low tones that its holder was indecipherable over her own spinning head and obnoxiously thundering heartbeat.

When she heard the tell-tale squeak of the doorknob, however, operation _Harmless Eavesdropping_ met its untimely demise. With a reflexive jump, Lyre hoisted herself onto the window ledge and into the cool night air. It was probably nothing warranting concern anyway.

Besides, there would be time to discover necessary answers later in less incriminating fashions.

And then a clipped word registered in her mind. Lyre gave it little thought as she sailed smoothly through the night air and landed in a practiced crouch on mossy ground, no witnesses in sight. But in the stillness that followed, she froze with shock.

No one could so disparagingly articulate the term "idiot" quite like her sister just had.

* * *

When Lethe opened her front door and tiptoed quietly inside, she half expected Lyre to be nowhere in sight. And, sure enough, she was not.

Lethe relaxed a bit and made her way slowly up the stairs to the loft bedroom area she shared with her sister. Normally she ate a late dinner when upon arriving home from work, but she was understandably not hungry enough to fix a meal tonight.

The girl reached the top of the staircase and froze. There was Lyre after all, curled up with her back to the staircase and looking for all the world like she had gone to bed hours before. Well, sure. It was not like Lethe usually was out too late herself anyway. Stealth mode reactivated, she slid over to their shared chest of drawers to grope about for her nightshirt.

"You're back kinda late," Lyre's voice greeted from her bed. She did not sound sleepy.

"I thought you were asleep," Lethe grunted as she worked at her clothes.

"I was. You're as loud as a beorc in full armor."

Lethe slammed the drawer closed and was pleased to see Lyre jump a little and sit up in bed.

"You're such a brat!"

"And you're such an awful liar," Lethe muttered, pulling on her breezy nightwear.

"Oh yeah?" Lyre countered challengingly. "And where have you been?"

"I stayed late looking for you!"

"Sure you did," Lyre growled sulkily.

Lethe whirled on her, angry. "I did! And you were off who-knows-where, gamboling about without a care in the world. You didn't even check out!" Lyre opened her mouth but a hiss from Lethe momentarily silenced her. "So you just up and disappear without a word, we're in the middle of another pointless fight, and so I talked it out with Ranulf because he's good at listening! Happy now?"

Lethe had meant to lead up to whatever it was she had to say—heck, she had not even meant to mention the captain. But the words just seemed to pour out. Summed up so neatly, the whole experience sounded much more mundane than she had remembered it.

Lyre stared. She felt unaccountably relieved. "You don't have to worry about me, you know."

"I wasn't worried," Lethe corrected her quickly. "I didn't want you to do something stupid."

Lyre hoped Lethe could not see her face redden in the dark. "I'm not an idiot kid, Lethe! We're the same age, though you seem to forget that all the time!"

The other girl snorted tellingly in reply, kicking her clothes into a heap by the dresser. She climbed into her own bed and stared at the ceiling, wondering if she was going to get any sleep. Physically she was exhausted, but her emotions bounced about like cubs at a swimming hole.

"Well, I'm not," Lyre emphasized again.

"Yeah, and what was that little episode about earlier in my office?"

Lyre remained rigidly upright, relief replaced by a throbbing sense of injustice rejuvenated by her sister's words. "Your fault, too!"

"Look, do you want to talk about it or not?"

When Lyre did not reply, her sister turned to look at her. The girl seemed troubled.

"Lyre?"

"No."

Lethe snorted again. "Suit yourself."

"I mean, you wouldn't understand."

Whether her sister was just exhausted—and therefore loose-lipped—or if something weighed particularly heavy on her Lethe did not know. Either way, the girl sounded ready to talk and this was a step in the right direction. "Maybe not, but you can try me."

Another long pause, and then Lyre's voice rose tentatively from the darkness. "Am I a good soldier?"

"Of course. You proved yourself in the last war." Lethe felt a bit indignant, and asked quickly, "Did someone tell you you're not?"

"No, not in so many words…" she trailed off. "Sometimes I just feel underappreciated, like I could be doing more."

"Oh?" Lethe was sure there must have been a particular reason for this feeling. She was also pretty sure Lyre would not share the whole story. "Is this about Kyza again?"

"A little, I guess," the girl settled into her covers.

"I swear, you two could find a reason to fight if the world was perfect."

"He's insufferable," Lyre pointed out tartly. "But it's not just him. Lethe?"

"Yeah?"

"Does Ranulf hate me?"

Lethe's eyes snapped open and she turned toward her sister. Where had_ that_ come from? "What? Not that I know of. Why would he?"

Lyre frowned. "'Not that you know of?' What's_ that_ supposed to mean?"

"I can't read his mind, Lyre, geez. Of course he doesn't hate you. What's this all about?"

Lyre shrugged vaguely as an unexpected smile spread across her face. She laughed. "You're not very encouraging sometimes, you know that?"

Lethe smiled, too. "Just trying to be realistic. In an encouraging way. Or something like that."

Lyre giggled again. "Hey, you remember that time when we were little and I got that blister?"

"What? How'd I remember something like that?"

"Well, I do," Lyre bit her lip to keep from laughing again. "And when I asked you how to make them get better?"

"No," Lethe stated bluntly.

"You took one look at it, ripped it clean off, and said," at this point, Lyre adopted a gruff-sounding male voice, "'Toughen up!' Just like that."

Lethe grinned. She could imagine herself doing just that, too. "Preparing you to be a world-class warrior. You need to start young."

"Aww, come on, you were brutal!"

"_Practical_, darling sister."

It was Lyre's turn to snort. "So… you don't think he hates me? Or dislikes me? Or thinks I'm useless?"

"No. I don't." Sometimes Lethe doubted Ranulf's ability to properly judge others. He could be far too forgiving.

"Hmmm. Okay then."

Lethe heard covers sifting again as Lyre made herself comfortable, then the sound of heavy breathing a few minutes later. The girl must really have been tired, Lethe mused. She doubted that _she _would drop off so quickly, though it was a weight off her shoulders to know that Lyre's malcontent was not longer directed at her.

Well, as much as it had been earlier.

And perhaps their argument had mostly died during the course of their recent conversation as well. It occurred to her that there was always some sort of bad blood between them at any given time. As she listened to the steady drone of her sister's breathing, however, it also occurred to Lethe that life would be pretty dull without Lyre, drama queen temper tantrums and all.


	4. Chapter 4: Like Cats and Dogs

"I say they should solve this squabble in the only fashion fit for honorable men. Let them fight!"

Ranulf kept a pleasantly tolerant expression plastered onto his face as he struggled not to lose his calm. A capitulation from the captain would jeopardize all he had been working for this past half an hour. He was dimly aware of the sounds of mock battle between other soldiers who littered the training field on the outskirts of the Gallian capitol city. Nearby, a cat and tiger laguz squared off in shifted forms amidst a flurry of growling and spitting. Such training pairs were not uncommon: the natural speed of the one and strength of the other served to test otherwise underdeveloped skill sets in both. There was a certain practical beauty in the diversity of the feline beast laguz that the other nations of Tellius lacked.

Before him were twelve of these cat and tiger laguz, soldiers from his division and recently chosen members of his task force. They stood in a loose line as he carefully explained their mission and what was expected of their particular unit. All they were to do was escort Skrimir on his short trip to Kerm, a small village on the border of Gallia and Crimea. Although the situation there was international, the captain doubted the trip would take any more than a few days. He also anticipated little necessity of military action in the course of their dealings there—but a small contingency was appropriate whenever the king traveled.

It was simple, really.

But darn it if he could not have just a single pep talk without one laguz threatening to destroy the carefully maintained professionalism of the group by letting his blood run hot and his mouth run with it.

Today it was Talos. Talos was a hulking tiger laguz with wild black hair and a personality to match. He stood planted in the middle of the row, legs spread, arms crossed, and a fierce expression in his eyes. Around him, some of the other soldiers were nodding their heads and grinning. A few long cat tails flicked with anticipation at the mere mention of a contest.

Ranulf considered the tiger laguz critically. "Talos, have you been listening to a single word that I've been saying?"

Oblivious to Ranulf's annoyance, Talos grinned largely, like a man with full confidence in himself. "Of course, Captain!"

"Excellent." Ranulf knew the man meant no harm, but his instinctual approach to solving such a delicate issue had to be dealt with before the others became infected by the warrior's fervor. "Now recap. Without commentary, if you would."

"Sure thing!" Talos, buoyed by the positive attention of his peers, pressed on somewhat cockily. "These two guys disagree over who gets some land. A trial by combat is the obvious solution."

Ranulf ignored the muttered agreements, eyes on the black-haired tiger laguz. "No commentary. And you seem to be forgetting a key detail. Try again."

Talos narrowed his eyes in thought. "They're both… farmers?"

"And…?"

"And they… um…" Talos glanced at a shorter cat laguz to his right with a questioning expression.

"And this is an international dispute, sir," another voice offered.

Ranulf shifted his attention briefly to Kyza who stood at stiff attention a few soldiers to the left of Talos. "Right," he confirmed. Though secretly he was glad of his friend's support, the captain kept his expression carefully neutral. An open display of approval might come across as favoritism.

Talos took a threatening step in Kyza's direction. "So what?"

"Talos," Ranulf snapped. The tiger laguz's attention was instantly on the captain again. "You know that Crimean politics are conducted differently than those of us Gallians."

Talos snorted. "This is not a Crimean affair. We are involved."

Ranulf avoided raking a frustrated hand through his hair. Instead, his expression hardened. "I need you to think with your head and not your claws for once! What you so rashly suggest would in all probability result in the death of a Crimean civilian. In even ordinary circumstances you can bet the injured country would be far from pleased. But additionally, we have a peace treaty with Crimea. Killing one of their farmers without so much as an attempt at negotiation would grossly violate that treaty. Countries have gone to war for less."

"Sir," Talos mumbled, mollified. Around him, a few of the other soldiers scuffed their booted feet across the scarred ground; none spoke. Ranulf scanned each set of eyes in a quick motion, noting the traces of incredulity in most, including Talos's. He knew the men respected him and would probably be dependable during this mission regardless of their doubts. However, he was also aware that most of his feline brethrens' understanding of beorc policies was limited. He made a point of drilling these cultural differences into his men when the opportunities arose, but head-knowledge and practical knowledge were two separate things entirely. Few laguz had much dealings with beorc. Fewer still were so intimately involved in beorc politics as he. Often was he faced with similar situations that forced him to double-take and reevaluate his approach to explaining beorc conduct.

For now, it appeared that further lecturing would be unnecessary. And probably detrimental, current chastising being leveled at an individual rather than the contingent as a whole. Ranulf did not wish to ostracize Talos with renewed harping. He hoped that his point was conveyed sufficiently enough today that no related incidents would arise on their short excursion.

After another fifteen minutes of orders, he dismissed the soldiers. Most appeared to have forgotten the incident and immediately fell back into their customary loud conversation and incessant bickering. Ranulf was not sure if this was a good or bad thing, but let it pass as he shifted his attention to Kyza.

"Hey, Kyza. A moment, please."

Kyza turned back questioningly. "Sir?"

The captain allowed himself to relax somewhat. True, Kyza adhered with singular fervor to formal etiquette and often appeared overbearing, but years of acquaintance with the tiger laguz had quickly broken that ice. Ranulf usually was not overly bothered by such mannerisms regardless. "It's come to my attention that most of this unit has minimal working knowledge of beoric dealings."

Kyza coughed tellingly.

"As such, I appreciate how your broader experiences enhance the chemistry of our little group," Ranulf continued. "Thanks for having my back earlier."

The tiger laguz brightened. "Always a pleasure to be of service, Captain."

"That's good, because I had another favor to ask of you," Ranulf replied with an opportunistic grin. Sometimes Kyza just set himself up for these things… "Could you—"

"Ranulf!"

The name rang powerfully across the field. A few heads turned from their various militaristic tasks to locate the source of the commotion. One unlucky soul's distraction was rewarded with a smack on his jaw from his less distractible opponent, sending him sprawling in a cloud of dust. Those not immediately affected by the voice quickly found themselves reconsidering their interest in the wake of bows and signs of respect paid by their more alert fellows.

A hulking man traipsed purposefully through the melee, head high and sholders thrown back, oblivious to the stares and hasty bows offered him by those he passed. His long silky sleeves and dark baggy pants rippled with his commanding strides. Behind him, his mane of thick red hair bounced wildly like a bright, neon conflagration.

"Hey, your Highness," Ranulf called back with a nod in the lion laguz's direction. Kyza stepped from in front of the captain and offered a formal bow as Skrimir's quick strides brought him to a halt before his much shorter chief advisor.

"How go preparations?"

"As well as can be expected from a lot of hot-headed testosterone-pumped soldiers itching for any sort of fight," Ranulf said lightly.

Skrimir laughed. "Ah, true soldiers of Gallia! I approve."

"I knew you would," the blue cat laguz admitted with a grin. "And how goes diplomacy?"

Skrimir snorted. "I bore of being trapped behind those puny walls."

"The price of power, Skrimir." Ranulf smiled ruefully.

"Bah!"

Ranulf ignored that. "Do your uncle and Giffca know you're out here?"

Skrimir's eyes narrowed in distaste. "I left Giffca in charge while I'm gone."

Ranulf assumed that this meant Caeneghis was unaware of his nephew's disappearance. Though with Giffca temporarily in charge, that might not last long. He raised an incredulous eyebrow up at the towering young king.

Skrimir crossed his arms challengingly. "What?"

"Giffca can't hold court, Skrimir. You know that."

"He was appointed by royal decree," Skrimir countered. "That should be good enough for those whining ninnies."

Ranulf laughed lightly. "Those 'whining ninnies' are your subjects and today is the last day for at least a week that they will be able to hold audience with you."

A grunt proportional to his bulk escaped the king. "You sound like my uncle."

"I'm pleased to hear it! He is known for his wisdom after all." Ranulf grinned impishly.

Skrimir smirked and pointed a gloved finger at the lithe cat's chest. "If I have to go back, you're coming with me. You can deal with those grouches."

"Fine," Ranulf conceded. "But at least pretend that you're interested."

"If you insist," Skrimir promised unconvincingly. With reluctance he headed back in the direction of the castle, heralding another smattering of curious glances amongst the soldiers.

The blue cat laguz refocused his attention on Kyza, who had mutely witnessed the captain and king's exchange and now watched the latter's departure with a blank expression. Although the man was fiercely loyal to king and country, Ranulf imagined that he was also somewhat miffed by Skrimir's flippancy. Such an attitude would grate on his sensibilities.

"So," he began again, meeting Kyza's eyes before he continued. "I'll make this fast. I've decided to add another to our number."

"Who, sir?"

"Lyre," Ranulf said without inflection. Before the other could protest, he explained: "As I said earlier, beorc experience will come in handy. Lyre had plenty in the last war and will therefore be a valuable addition to our party. I'd like you to convey to her this change of plans and tell her to get packed and ready to go by this afternoon. Understood?"

Kyza looked like he was choking. He managed another "Sir" before Ranulf dismissed him and strode purposefully after Skrimir, who by then was out of sight. As soon as his tiger laguz subordinate could not see his expression, a roguish smile spread across Ranulf's face. This new arrangement would undoubtedly provide ample taxations on him later—he would probably regret it then. But right now the development seemed awfully funny.

And it _was_ practical in any case.

* * *

Ranulf caught up with Skrimir before the king was halfway back to his castle. It was more than apparent that His Royal Majesty had no intentions of arriving sooner than necessary. When he had discovered that the captain had lagged behind he had wasted no time in slowing his own pace. The two walked the rest of the distance together through the dense green forest that chocked the imperial city in a circuitous route per Skrimir's prodding and much to Ranulf's chagrin. The day had dawned and thus far remained cloudless, the sky having since then grown from the soft pastely yellows and oranges of early morning into a palid crystalline blue. Although there was no breeze, the descending chill of Autumn made for little warmth regardless. Underfoot, the scrubby brush and hardy grasses crackled dryly.

Ranulf found that he was secretly glad of the extended trek despite its inconvenience to anyone excepting himself and Skrimir. Although he had not noticed it at the time, over the course of his rather stationary speech he had grown slightly chill. The exercise now did wonders to warming his blood and chasing away some lingering fatigue. He could understand Skrmir's reluctance to stay indoors.

The walk was too short. Skrimir grumbled irritably as soon as the castle walls were in sight. Knowing that the big redhead might rebel against the whole notion of returning should he discover that Ranulf was similarly opinioned, the captain banished his enjoyment of the interlude and stubbornly goaded his superior quickly through the open gate and up the grand stone staircases that led to the throne room. Servants, soldiers, and citizenry they passed acknowledged the pair respectfully. More than a few appeared surprised to see Skrimir traipsing through the halls. Apparently he had done a thorough job of sneaking out earlier that morning. This surprised Ranulf—the flaming-haired lion laguz usually failed utterly at avoiding attention, what with his boisterous mannerisms, commanding appearance, and undeniable status. As they neared the throne room, a gaggle of servant girls bit their lips and chattered in hushed voices, throwing the king nervous glances over their shoulders.

"Am I missing something?" He finally asked Skrimir in a low voice once the girls were out of earshot.

Skrimir seemed surprised at the inquiry. "I don't know what you mean," he answered louder than Ranulf would have wished.

"Never mind, then."

Skrimir looked at him suspiciously. He probably would have questioned the smaller man if they had not just arrived at the imposing entrance to their destination. With a frustrated grunt, he passed by the guards and pillars flanking the cavernous access and burst unceremoniously into the throne room.

Inside, a few guards milled about the cavernous room. At regular intervals, huge bowl-like torches lined a blue carpet that ran from the entrance to a raised dais at the far end of the area. The outer walls were pillared and sunlight streamed from between the intricately carved supports on the left side of the room and into the inner corridor. The showpiece of the ensemble, a ponderous stone throne, sat unoccupied at the end of the strip of carpet.

Near the throne, Giffca was deep in conversation with a smaller blonde cat laguz who gestured expansively with his arms, his muscled back to the room's threshold. Behind the cat laguz stood four others—another cat and three tigers, Ranulf estimated with a glance—at stiff attention, watching the discussion without a word.

As Skrimir and he approached the tanned, black-haired lion laguz, Ranulf was able to pick up a bit of the one-way conversation.

"—refuse. I have traveled with my companions for a week and hear that the king will be gone for at least another and you tell me that he's unavailable?"

"I understand that you're disgruntled, but his Highness has many responsibilities and—"

"And so he could not spare time for appointments? A little flippant of him, don't you think? I will not be serviced by a retainer."

Giffca's eyes met Skrimir's in a brief flicker. His stoic expression remained unaltered as he continued with deliberate neutrality. "Such an attitude may prove unwise."

The blonde cat's eyes narrowed in distaste. "Yours or mine?"

"Enough," Skrimir bellowed loudly from halfway across the throne room. The irate cat laguz turned sharply. He bowed briefly, though he did not appear to be surprised or apologetic. His mute companions followed suit.

"What seems to be the problem here, Giffca?"

Giffca nodded an emotionless greeting. "Of which do you speak?"

The blonde laguz leader shot him a dark look, but said nothing.

Skrimir came to a halt beside the sturdy, black-haired man. "Whichever is most important. Let's make this brief."

Ranulf cringed inwardly at Skrimir's complete lack of tact. He made a mental note to mention the issue later.

Giffca motioned toward the angry cat laguz standing before them with one leather-greaved arm. "This man seems to have a complaint."

"I see," Skrimir noted mildly. He addressed his next statement to the man in question: "You must be…"

"Vinx," Ranulf supplied under his breath without looking at Skrimir.

"Vinx," Skrimir repeated.

"Ophrem province," Ranulf muttered.

"From Ophrem," the king finished fluidly. "Of what do you and your companions wish to speak with me?"

Ranulf made another mental note.

Vinx appeared to have regained enough composure to answer the king almost tactfully, his glower considerably less fierce. "We wish to speak with your Highness," his eyes danced from Giffca, who still stood beside the king, back to Skrimir, "about a bit of hard luck that has recently fallen upon Ophrem. I am unsure if the capitol has experienced the late summer storms?"

Skrimir's brow furrowed a bit impatiently. "No, we're too far inland to generally be bothered by such things until later Autumn. What of it?"

"Ophrem's been hit hard this year. As you know, we're a costal village. Weather can be pretty nasty near the ocean."

"And?" It was pretty clear that Skrimir wished for the blonde cat to get to the point, though he seemed at least curious now.

"And… we're a mess." Vinx laughed disparagingly. It sounded strained considering recent tempers. He apparently had decided to ignore Skrimir's bluntness, or at least not wear any more irritation on his face. "Besides the usual mess caused by our storms, a few of the bigger trees in our village fell this year. The aftermath is considerable."

"It's usually not this bad," one of the tiger laguz added with a shrug from behind his leader.

"So, you need help cleaning up," Skrimir concluded, crossing his arms. He seemed more relaxed, now that he was aware of the extent of the problem. It occurred to Ranulf that his help would not be needed anytime soon; Skrimir could easily take care of maintenance issues. He resigned himself to the task of observer for the rest of the proceedings, keeping an emotionless eye on Vinx and company.

Vinx was apparently aware of the perusal. He gave Ranulf a cagey glance before continuing.

"Yes," he agreed somewhat distractedly. "Like he said, it's not usually this bad. In the past we've taken care of these things just fine on our own."

Skrimir made his decision with characteristic promptness. "I'll send a few soldiers out immediately to aid your village. Ranulf! Suggestions?"

Vinx appeared surprised, but Ranulf had little time to ponder that before he turned to answer the young king. "How about Lethe? She's dependable."

It happened quickly. From the corner of his eye, the captain perceived a flash of white from behind the now-tense Vinx, who looked over his shoulder anxiously. One of the soldiers nearby yelled something, but Ranulf had already thrown himself towards the aggressor with a shout.

There was no time to transform, just to react. For a heartbeat, time seemed to freeze. Ranulf was at once aware of the tell-tale shimmer that surrounded two of Vinx's tiger laguz companions, a vicious snarl that distorted their leader's features, and the deadly determination emanating from his quarry—the other cat laguz in Vinx's party.

Then the picture shattered as a sharp pain shot from the airborne cat captain's abdomen, focusing his attention fully on his own problems. But it was too late for his assailant. Ranulf's velocity carried him inexorably into the other cat laguz, and the two tumbled to the carpeted ground with a crash. The other man gasped as the wind rushed from his lungs on impact. Ranulf pounded at him mercilessly in a series of well-placed punches and kicks. The other warrior was good, but he was better, and his quick counterattack had been unanticipated. The captain managed to box the attacker into unconsciousness with only a few minor injuries to show for his trouble.

The conclusion of the battle assaulted his keen senses. All around, other individuals who had so recently stool idle at court now clashed amidst a cacophony of snarls, roars, and painful yelps. Most of the other felines had by now transformed, and they slashed at each other with mighty claws and huge fangs. The acrid smell of blood roiled from the immediate vicinity, and dark red splotches of it adorned beasts and floor alike.

The scuffle ended before Ranulf had time to stand, Skrimir finishing it all with a lion's roar and a powerful swipe of his bright red forepaw. The last standing tiger laguz assailant was sent sprawling onto the floor with a dull but audible crack, where he lay inert and bleeding.

Ranulf scrambled to his feet as the laguz around him shifted back into their humanoid forms, but a sharp report from his gut lanced through his body and he stumbled into a kneeling position. Holding his middle protectively, he gasped a ragged breath.

"Ranulf!" Skrimir shouted with concern somewhere nearby. The captain was aware of the other's pounding footsteps as he fumbled about his clothing for the source of the pain. His hand brushed a protruding wooden handle, and he swiftly but carefully slipped a wet knife from his abdomen. The action brought fourth a renewed trickle of blood from the now open wound.

Skrimir cursed roundly as he knelt beside his friend.

"I'm fine," Ranulf lied on impulse. A sudden cough strangled the rest of whatever else he would have said.

"Let me handle this," a dark shape from Ranulf's other side declared in a voice that dismissed all question. Giffca dropped into a crouch beside the captain and inspected the wound instantaneously. With sure fingers, he gripped the brown fabric of Ranulf's shirt and ripped away the impeding material with a swift jerk of his big hands. Dark spots danced in front of the cat laguz's vision and he shook his head angrily to dispel them.

Another soldier was already handing the black lion laguz a rag, and Giffca took it and pressed it firmly against the blood-smeared wound. It was impossible as of yet to determine how serious it was.

Skrimir barked a few orders at those not incapacitated around them, and the room burst into another flurry of action. He turned to inspect the knife, picking it up by the handle.

The king growled a few more profanities. "Grrrrr, wood and bone! It's no wonder we couldn't smell it."

"Skrimir, don't touch that blade," Ranulf snapped. His voice sounded funny, but he pressed on after another cough. "It might be poisoned."

"I was foolish to let this happen," Skrimir hissed darkly, his eyes narrowing. He turned with knife in hand toward the prone body of Vinx, who was being bound roughly by two of the palace soldiers. Skrimir's expression darkened purposefully.

"Skrimir! Don't—" Ranulf began, but the words broke away as his consciousness faltered. Cursing inwardly at his own debilitation, he hoped the rash king would leave Vinx and his companions alive for questioning. Killing them now would accomplish nothing aside from revenge.

Surrounding noises and bustling melded into a meaningless jumble of sound and color. It occurred to Ranulf that he was about to pass out. Another thought intruded in upon this first: Lethe would probably think he was an idiot for being so careless.

Funny that he should think of something silly like that right now.

He almost smiled at the irony, but blacked out before he could.


	5. Chapter 5: Cat's Paw

Kyza was not often at war with himself. Certainly he could recall his fair share of seemingly brainless orders, but his sense of duty and foresight tended to far outweigh most qualms. Usually, it was not only improper but downright mutinous for a soldier to outright question orders from a superior. Even a soldier of his rank. If every soldier did only as he or she pleased there would be no unity amongst the ranks. A civilization could not function without a bit of blind obedience.

And his adherence to duty was not going unnoticed. He was aware that he was being granted greater responsibilities due to his dependability and thirst for doing right. There was a certain amount of justice in the whole cycle; if one worked whole-heartedly for the betterment of the system, the system gave back.

And it was not like he was a mindless cog in the vast machine of the military, either. With promotions came more flexibility, more leeway to debate policies and decisions. You were not a simple dissenter anymore, but a tried member of a greater society in which you had earned your place through hard work and personal sacrifice.

But despite all of these arguments that Kyza forced himself to mindlessly repeat ad nauseum in his head, he was having enormous difficulty in following a very recent order from his most trusted superior. Kyza would have been more than compliant in following Ranulf into unbeatable odds, certain death, and nigh to the gates of Hades should his captain demand it for the sake of Gallia. And he had faced his share of bleak situations on the battlefield, to be sure.

Desperately, he tried to recall how he had convinced himself to follow _those _orders. Perhaps there had been some sort of formula that he could work out if his brain would just _think. _He had not pondered it all overmuch before, but now it seemed imperative that he discover any shred of aid that might bolster his faltering convictions.

A peripheral scan of past dilemmas provided Kyza with a provisional list of commonalities. There had been the heart-pounding thrill of eminent danger, the pride of accomplishing the impossible with his countrymen and allies, the honor that was certain should death steal him away on the battlefield. At any of those times, he was able to twist logic in some way to sanction his obedience. And in the end, most everything had turned out for the best.

But this recent order was not thrilling, did not remotely instill in him any sense of pride, and most certainly did not promise to be honorable. Any logic Ranulf might think to support it with could be overwritten tenfold with better logic as far as Kyza was concerned. And try as he might, he did not see any glimmer of light at the end of this infinitely long and dark tunnel. Yes, it was a grossly dank, dark, irredeemable tunnel into which Ranulf had so calmly but irrevocably dumped him.

There had to be a way out.

Deep in thought, Kyza nearly collided with a tree before he caught himself and stopped short rather clumsily. Nearby, a deep-throated chuckle sounded from an apparent observer. Kyza turned peevishly to locate that source.

About a dozen yards and closing, Talos watched him with a rather open grin. "Even our resident military genius makes mistakes, eh? Makes me feel worlds better about my own humble self."

"Haven't you caused enough trouble for one morning, Talos?" Kyza replied coldly.

Talos's mirth vanished. "You just think you're so smart, don't you?"

"Not always," the other tiger laguz answered blandly. "If you don't mind, I haven't the time for this conversation."

"Sure you don't," Talos intoned indolently. He continued in a babying tone, "Kyza always does what he's told rather promptly, doesn't he?"

"Depending on the nature of the order, naturally," the silver-hair laguz replied blandly.

That answer seemed to agitate Talos even further. "Of course," he drawled. "How could I forget?"

"How indeed?"

"Listen, Kyza," Talos growled. He now stood directly in front of the other tiger laguz, his body tense and shackles slowly rising. Behind him, other soldiers continued to spar with each other grandly, heedless of the less obvious battle taking place at the fringe of forest. "I know you think you can do whatever you want because you've got friends in high places, but you're wrong. And sometimes that attitude of yours gets really annoying."

Kyza watched the man lose his temper impassively. He was well aware that the burly, black-haired laguz was itching for a fight. The sensitive brute's pride had been injured earlier when Ranulf had been briefing the soldiers and, though he had not shown it at the time, he still smarted from the two-fold reprimand of the captain and Kyza. Presumably he was even aware that both were right, but when a damaged ego was at stake, right and wrong had little hold over individuals of Talos's nature. It had probably not occurred to him that satisfying his unruly emotions could bear consequences.

And apparently he assumed that Kyza would provide that easy outlet for said emotions.

Although fighting was not an unusual way for many laguz to settle disputes, Kyza generally found it more professional to civilly discuss grievances—particularly in a military setting, and considering the task that his and Talos's special unit was to soon perform. The whole situation was disgusting and infantile as far as the blue tiger laguz was concerned. If Talos would just take the time to get his thoughts in order, perhaps he would agree.

"I'm sorry that you find certain aspects of my personality offensive," Kyza replied unapologetically, "but there's really not much I can or care to do about that. We can talk later."

Talos grasped a handful of Kyza's stiff brown shirt, his eyes flashing. "I don't appreciate that tone."

Kyza's eyes narrowed with thinly-veiled contempt. "And _I _don't appreciate your sorry lack of manners. Release me, Talos."

"Or you'll what? Report me like the tattle-tale you are?" Talos sneered.

"I'm already planning on doing that."

Admittedly he had asked for what was coming next with that last statement, so it came as no surprise to Kyza when Talos aimed a colossal punch at his stomach in response. He twisted from the man's grip before the blow could connect and bounded a few yards back, his body shimmering as he shifted into his beast form. Talos was quick to follow suit. Soon, a blue tiger and a bigger, spitting, mud-brown tiger glared at each other across the grounds of Kyza's tactical retreat.

Talos wasted no time in closing that gap.

Certainly it was a fight, but like a brawl at a bar or the sparring of the other soldiers scattered about the training field, the nature of their battle consisted mostly of bruising and battering without critical injury.

Kyza ducked under Talos's initial lunge and kicked savagely with his hind legs at about where he expected the other feline to land. His feet met fur and Talos was thrown into a nearby tree, which quivered violently with the impact. Talos's thick head proved advantageous under the circumstances, however. Bounding quickly to his feet again, he threw himself powerfully at his smaller opponent, knocking the other man to the hard earth. Soon, both were scrambling and rolling amidst a flurry of growling and flying dirt clods kicked up by clawed cat paws, vying fiercely for the upper hand. A few nearby soldiers stopped throwing their own punches to watch with mild interest.

Kyza was not surprised to discover that while Talos was his superior in strength, the big feline lacked an overarching method to his strikes. Those that were successful sent Kyza reeling, but more often than not he was able to evade the attacks. Soon the smaller man was able to pick up patterns in his opponent's tactics. Dodging Talos's next swipe quite peremptorily, Kyza managed to roll onto all four feet and swat solidly at the base of the surprised man's unprotected skull.

Struggling to remain upright after the unexpected assault on his head and aware that he had been outmaneuvered, Talos resorted to a last desperate gamble on his strength. With a blind zeal he lurched haphazardly at his recovering opponent, fangs bared and vision red. But this attack too was deflected, and with another deft smack of a firm paw, Kyza sent the other feline sprawling.

Head pounding, Talos struggled to rise again, but the effort proved too much and he promptly shifted back into his two-legged, black-haired appearance in defeat.

Kyza the blue tiger shoved Talos's weaker beorc form to the ground with a puff of dust and a snarl, pinning his chest under a big, calloused paw. The other man flinched involuntarily, awaiting the inevitable blow. Then to his bemusement, the looming tiger shimmered and shifted abruptly back into the familiar humanoid form of the silver-haired man. It was a very uncharacteristically rumpled Kyza that scrutinized him now, his shirt disheveled, hair unkempt and expression a bit wild. Additionally, a dark red patch on his left wrist and soaking into his ivory glove denoted a bite he had acquired sometime over the course of their skirmish. Seeing that the fight was over, watching soldiers returned to their own work without much concern. Removing his other hand from the prone Talos's heaving chest, Kyza rose briskly.

"I take it a few false assumptions you may have harbored about myself have been rectified," he stated rather unnecessarily in his familiar business-like tone between pants. "Now I really do have someplace I must be."

Without another word he turned back towards the dappled shadows of the forest and his reluctant mission. Behind him, he could hear the tell-tale scrambling and a grunt from Talos as the man picked himself, reeling, out of the dirt. He did not, however, hear following footsteps or further antagonistic remarks, and so concluded that the matter was satisfactorily resolved. He imagined that Talos would be rather embarrassed about the exchange in an hour or so.

Pulling his glove from his hand in mild annoyance, Kyza inspected the bite as he traipsed through the forest towards the capitol. He bandaged it with the now-ruined hand gear—there was not much he could do about the blood stains before it was too late to cleanse them anyway. He would just have to replace that pair of gloves later.

Or now.

Now sounded good.

Now sounded great.

Additionally, the market was on his way and if he twisted logic enough he could almost convince himself that buying new gloves would somehow facilitate better quality in his work…

No, he was being ridiculous. The brawl with Talos had already wasted enough time and Lyre _did_ need to get packed within a few hours. It would be unfair of him to avoid the inevitable, even if it _was_ for Lyre. With a sigh of resignation Kyza worked his way briskly through the forest and onto a dirt path. The path milled about through brush and trees much like a deer trail, widening as houses on the edge of the city began to appear. The number of structures increased rapidly as he made walked into the heart of the city, and with them the number of Gallians. By the time he reached the main thoroughfare via a number of side streets, the noise and crowd were considerable. The morning was cool but clear and business was usual—loud and colorful. Gallians were boisterous people by nature and shop keepers hawked their wares in booming voices. In turn, customers haggled in equal exuberance, punctuating their bargaining with waving hands and raised voices. Children chased down the busy streets shouting shrilly, inevitably getting underfoot of all nearby with careless abandon.

Intermixed amongst the cat people was a representative assortment from the near and far reaches of Tellius. Most of these were also laguz—the proud hawk people, beady-eyed Ravens, and one or two enigmatic individuals of the dragon tribe. But within the mix were also a number of the neighboring Crimeans, stately Begnions, and even a smattering of the reticent Daeins.

Since the recent wars, beorc and laguz relations had improved beyond hope. What was once a mere dream now breathed with a new life under the careful guidance of pioneering leaders such as Queen Elincia of Crimea and the recently retired King Caineghis. Quick to anger but also quickest to forgiveness amongst the other laguz nations, Gallia was particularly warm in welcoming a new beginning between beast and beorc. This welcome had come not without sacrifice and bloodshed, and most still regarded the development with wariness.

Some were even hostile.

As Kyza watched, a young pair of Crimeans haggled at a fruit stall with some reserve, much to the apparent amusement of the loud, rumpled tiger laguz who manned the establishment. In a glance, it was apparent that the couple was nobility by their fine clothes, costly jewelry, and tasteful mannerisms. Behind the woman, a small boy clung to her skirts, watching the bustling streets and busy Gallian children with rapt interest. Nearby, a few cat-eared youngsters kicked about a rag ball and did a generally thorough job of disrupting all within their vicinity.

Then with a dull _whmp,_ the ball smacked the Crimean boy, knocking him off his feet and into his mother. The woman turned to scold her unruly offspring as the child picked himself up. Ball in hands, he faced the posse of Gallian children who stood uncertainly not far away. One of the children disengaged himself from the group and approached the little noble, who readily held out the toy in a nervous manner. The other boy grinned suddenly, and, with excited eyes and a rapid-fire mouth, he jabbered something unintelligible, gesticulating in the direction of his milling friends. The beorc boy seemed to brighten instantly. With the hasty permission of his inattentive father and to the chagrin of his mother, he bounded off to join the other children. The game started up again and once more the children scampered about the street, now with another companion.

Despite his poor mood, Kyza could not hide a faint grin. Episodes like the one he had just witnessed stood in mute testimony to the bond that, though faint and tentative, grew between two cautious races. It also struck him that though Gallia's present sovereign may be passionate and reckless, Skrimir still continued in the noble work of his predecessor notwithstanding opposition and in spite of his young age. His heart was in the right place.

Perhaps he would make a proper king after all.

A familiar figure shattered his reverie. Across the crowded street, he caught a flash of pink bounding in front of the shops, weaving between bustling custom, vendors, and detached passerby. The figure came to a halt purposefully at a busy trinkets shop. The business sported an outdoor assortment of luring bangles that encouraged customers to follow the trail of shiny objects further into the indoor store, a rather blatant display of enticement.

Kyza's smirk died. The pink figure was Lyre.

Right behind her followed another two girls that he recognized from the army: a blonde in blue and the other, a brunette, in grey. They stood over the glittering bangles and gaudy fabrics with interest, pointing and giggling. Lyre grabbed up a handful of necklace and held it up to the brunette's throat to the approving chatter of her companions.

Kyza made an unpleasant face and waded through the jostling crowd. This was going to be even less agreeable than he had anticipated, though at least Lyre might be of a decent disposition around her friends.

Apparently Lyre did not notice his approach. The girls continued to run eager fingers through nearby jewelry, scarves, and useless baubles, a painstakingly slow process that had no real purpose as they did not seem interested in actually buying anything. The female mind could be most baffling.

"…Looks great with your eyes, but that shirt you're wearing is just far too blue for this one," the brunette was explaining as Kyza stepped within earshot, critically examining the blonde girl who had wrapped one of the bright scarves about her neck. It looked fine to Kyza, though its practicality remained questionable.

"That's true," the blonde agreed, examining her reflection in a conveniently-placed mirror. "What about with the yellow shirt?"

"Which yellow shirt?"

"The one I got last week! You don't remember?"

"I thought you had sworn off yellow!" The brunette's eyes were wide with real shock.

"Yes, but that was before I'd discovered this shade. You really do need to see it."

Kyza muffled an incredulous snort. He was inexplicably relieved to see that Lyre was too involved with a display of bracelets to participate in the troublesomely sincere conversation of her friends. Gritting his teeth, he pushed past a milling female customer and her strained male companion and pounced on Lyre's opportune distraction.

"Afternoon, Lyre."

Lyre's back stiffened instantly and for a second Kyza was certain that he was about to receive the silent treatment.

Instead, she swiveled about slowly, her eyes narrow. She blinked once, chillingly.

"Good afternoon, Kyza."

It had been the tiger laguz's secret hope that Lyre might have mostly recovered from their ill-fated conversation of… yesterday. The look that girl now wore made him wonder how such a thought could have even crossed his mind.

Had he been given the choice, Kyza would have settled for the silent treatment.

"I'm here to relay a message."

Lyre smiled brightly, though her eyes still flashed. "Oh goodie, another message from Kyza! I can't restrain my joy! Do you think it could wait until I'm ready to feel horrid?"

"Duty doesn't wait," Kyza stated stiffly. Lyre's sudden mood swings always disconcerted him.

"For you, maybe," she sniffed. "I happen not to be one-dimensional."

Their terse conversation had attracted the attention of Lyre's companions, who turned questioning eyes on the pair in the midst of inspecting a shelf of hats. "Everything okay over there?" the brunette asked, feathered hat in hand. The blonde began biting her nails nervously.

"Fine!" Lyre and Kyza snapped in unison.

The girls exchanged a look before returning to their perusal. Their voices dropped and the blonde threw a quick glance over her shoulder before her friend nudged her sharply in the side with a convenient elbow.

"_Now_ look what you did!" Lyre hissed in mortification, pretences abandoned.

"Look what _I _did?" Kyza balked. A blatantly angry Lyre was a Lyre he was accustomed to dealing with, and his defenses rose instantly. "Those aren't _my _girlfriends!"

Lyre slammed the bracelet gripped in her fist onto its display table. "You don't even know how bad this is!"

"Shopping on duty or the ever-colorful rumor mill?"

Lyre's eyes hardened. "We're on break! And yes, I was referring to the rumor mill, thank you _so _much for sharing that _so _loudly."

"I suppose you have no choice but to shun society for the rest of your days."

"You know who I'd _really _like to shun for the rest of my days?"

"I'm sure I wouldn't know."

"I'm sure you wouldn't!"

"Is there a problem here?" A leery shop assistant stuck his freckled face around the door leading into the rest of the shop.

"NO!" answered Lyre and Kyza.

The boy looked incredulous, but retreated inside nonetheless.

"_YOU! _You, you, you—!" Lyre yelled, pointing a handful of bracelet at Kyza.

It always came down to this. Kyza began to laugh rather helplessly.

With a snarl, Lyre scooped up a pile of nearby trinkets and proceeded to hurl the wad of tangling multi-hued jewels and metal at her mirthful opponent.

Kyza caught them easily with his good hand, still snickering.

"Shut up!" Lyre's tail twitched in agitation. "Relay your stupid message like a good boy and get away from me!"

With a cough, Kyza regarded a rack of flashy necklaces by his side in exaggerated interest, avoiding Lyre's eyes. "Right. The captain wishes for you to get your belongings in order and be ready to depart by the afternoon."

"Leave?" Lyre demanded, intent. "Leave where? What are you talking about?"

"Kerm, naturally. Where else?" If Kyza had to be the bearer of bad news, the least he could do was tease his recipient a bit in the process. It would be his only consolation for a week, after all.

"Kerm?" Lyre thought aloud, blinking as she considered the ramifications of what he had said. "Why Kerm?"

"Surely you jest."

Her eyes went wide hopefully, then flashed dangerously. "If this is a joke I'm going to—"

Sighing, Kyza dropped the baubles he still held onto the counter in resignation. "It's not a joke."

Lyre gaped. "I get to go with you guys?"

"It seems that way."

"Hah!" Her entire visage brightened as if their argument of moments ago had never transpired. A triumphant smile suffused her face.

To Kyza's surprise, her childlike joy proved contagious. Reluctantly, he was almost happy for her.

…Until her expression adopted a playful twist. Giggling gleefully she exclaimed, "Bet it killed you to tell me that!"

Kyza ignored that. Lyre seemed not particularly intent on that—or any—train of thought either, for she grabbed a nearby wad of scarf and flung it widely about her shoulders. She regarded her expression in a nearby copper mirror smugly, dopey smile still in place and ignorant of everything but her private contemplations.

"…Right," Kyza muttered. Now seemed an opportune time to withdraw: while Lyre was still blissfully pleased with herself and before she did something unpredictable. Besides the fact that he did not feel entirely comfortable standing about a jewelry store any longer than was necessary.

He edged toward the busy main thoroughfare. "If you require more information you should speak with the captain. Good day."

Lyre, it seemed, had not yet exhausted her store of "unpredictable." In a bound she crossed the gap between them and threw her arms about him in a whimsical hug.

Startled, Kyza backed into an unsuspecting passerby who glared at him peevishly before the tiger laguz could sputter a "What are you doing?"

But the girl had already released him, calculating excitement written all over her face and words tumbling out of her mouth faster than he could coherently follow. "This is great! You're right, I should talk to him! What happened to your hand? I'd better get packed first. I'll have to bring my new shoes and maybe the collar. See ya, Kyza!"

Dumbfounded, Kyza watched as she raced into the busy street, narrowly avoiding a few collisions. Then, as if in an afterthought, she skittered back to her two friends, who were discussing at length the merits of dangling earrings versus studs, babbled something to them in excitement, and was off again before Kyza could think to respond.

The first thought that popped into his mind was, _Heck, she can be downright adorable when she gets her way._

Before he could even begin to consider where _that_ had come from, a rather disgruntled shop assistant—the freckled one from earlier—bounded out of the door with a cry of indignation, flailing his arms after the retreating pink figure. "Hey, hey miss!"

Dejected, he came to a halt beside Kyza. Together, the two stared at the ever-moving street into which Lyre had disappeared. Only the unending noise of the crowd met the boy's pleas. His eyes looked up at Kyza's with something akin to sympathy before he spoke.

"You going to pay for that scarf, sir?"

It occurred to Kyza that, albeit unwittingly, Lyre was exploiting him.

And it troubled him that he honestly did not care.

He sighed. "How much is it?"

* * *

**Writer's comments:**

A certain amount of inspiration for this chapter came from a picture I sketched of Kyza and Lyre on my deviantart account—in which I also go by the username "Gondalier"—if anyone's interested! And yes, I realize the outfits are too modern, but I was all like, "Eh, what the hey. Kyza would totally work a dress shirt."


	6. Chapter 6: Catch up

Lethe dangled a leg out of her first-storey window perch, shivering slightly as a breeze swept through the dry leaves of the trees outside the window and past her mostly-bare limb. She squinted against the sharp gust. Inside, voices mingled and swelled, a chorus of conversations made senseless by her distraction. As the wind died down, once again the characteristic aromas of the dining hall wafted from the tables and kitchen nearby. Dining staff bustled in and out of the kitchen, cleaning and scolding on their periodic rounds about the extensive, pillared space. At a far end of the room, meats simmered and darkened on numerous spits over a great fire, the setup characteristic of the Gallians' rough lifestyle.

The dining hall was rarely without occupants, and the lunch hour heralded even more. Cat-eared figures talking, pushing, playing cards, eating noisily, napping, fighting, and being generally… loud. It was a lighthearted, casual loud, buoyed by peaceful times and mundane routine.

Sometimes Lethe spent her break with friends, discussed work a bit, made plans for the evening, the works. But presently conversation seemed rather ritual and she instead settled on eating her light meal in peace. She zoned out pleasantly as she watched the undulating branches and leaves below her seat to the steady hum of activity inside.

Perhaps the moment would have been more peaceful if not for a sudden commotion that burst through one of the common room's arched entrances. It was caused by a twitching, thin man who hurried to speak to one older woman leaning against a cold stone wall, engrossed with a novel and a steaming drink. The woman's ears promptly pinned back in annoyance at the disruption. But as the agitated man spoke, the color faded from her skin. Book slipping forgotten from her hands, she bolted upright and began to rattle off some commanding questions. The duo hurried from the dining room, much to the bemusement of those surrounding them.

The following lull in conversation lasted only a few heartbeats. Then the gossip began, the indolent throb of voices and eating and activity renewed, and the incident came and went without much more than a little curiosity to show for it.

Lethe's interest in the episode was likewise short-lived. Unique happenings were not unusual in the capitol fortress of the biggest city of the sprawling country of Gallia. Important issues arose daily, a litany of surprises that became routine. Although Lethe was not unshockable, the nature of her work had rendered most surprises to be of cursory concern.

And so she finished up what was left of her meal and stacked her dishes into a pile, hauling them to the vast kitchen adjoining the dinning hall. Her mind was already absent, working its way through her schedule for the rest of the day. She planned on staying late, as there were arrangements to still be made concerning Ranulf's departure with Skrimir and company, and then there were some discipline issues that would need her special attention—a pain, but also not terribly unusual—after that, perhaps she could go over that scouting expedition she had been planning for next month with Mordecai, assuming she could get out of that rather unnecessary meeting at five…

She traipsed quickly past a group of men throwing dice near the fire pit and into the hall, pausing momentarily to get her bearings and plan where she was off to next.

Her dilemma resolved itself for her.

Not twenty feet away, Skrimir strode down the wide walkway, scattering maids and courtiers alike with his dark gaze. Two officers accompanied him, speaking in low voices amongst themselves and generally recognizing Skrimir's apparent need to be left alone. Sometimes—oftentimes—it was not at all difficult to judge the big man's emotions. Lethe occasionally wondered if this was a good thing, but had no time to wonder that again now. While Skrimir's moods changed with the slightest prodding, she noticed that this one was a mood she had never seen before. The frown creasing the young king's face was not only black and vengeful, but held in it a touch of worry, an emotion rather foreign to that powerful face. Lethe could only watch with bemusement as he walked closer.

She did not anticipate what happened next. His taciturn attitude dissembled unexpectedly when he noticed her. Without apparent thought, he broke from his companions and grabbed her arm. "Come with me."

Lethe regained her composure quickly. "Of course." She knew better than to inquire into his behavior now, in the presence of so many interested onlookers.

Skrimir released her almost immediately and fell back into his reverie as the group continued briskly down hallways and away from the recreational section of the Gallian keep. If he had intended to be secretive, he was failing in all but blatantly screaming what it was that agitated him so. All the cat-eared individuals they passed in hallways and common areas turned to stare and chatter. Rumors undoubtedly abounded.

The party continued into the healing chambers. Lethe's interest suddenly existed, and with its presence her hackles rose. Why was her presence needed in the healing chambers? And so urgently? Around her, healers made way as if expecting the group. One detached himself from the gaggle. His immaculate upkeep contrasted sharply with a stocky build, rolled up sleeves, and blood stains on his robes. He spoke in low tones with Skrimir's companions—a pale, cat-eared man and a broad-shouldered, tan one. The party came to a halt as the men exchanged words.

Lethe's emotions overrode her façade of disinterest, and she wheeled on the Gallian king. "_What_ is going on? Did something happen to Lyre? I need to know _now_, Skrimir."

Skrimir grunted as his mind snapped back into the present. "What?"

"Tell me what's going on. Is it Lyre?"

"No, Ranulf." Lethe began to process this unexpected announcement as Skrimir continued tonelessly. "About an hour ago. That envoy from Ophrem stabbed him with a poisoned dagger. Vinx is in the dungeon. Ranulf wouldn't let me kill the bloody traitor and be done with it, but if something happens to him, I'll go down there an do it anyway. To Hades with protocol."

A dangerous spark had lit in Skrimir's eye. It was very obvious that much less than "something happening" to Ranulf would be enough for Skrimir to feel justified in killing the man in question. The young king's pale companion snapped his attention back to Skrimir. "Now is not the time…"

"No, it's not," Lethe agreed, cutting off whatever it was the man wished to say. "We can deal with details later. Where's Ranulf?"

The pale man looked ready to begin speaking again, but Skrimir was off at a brisk pace across the room. Lethe followed him without a backward glance, eyes narrowing and mind racing but getting nowhere. She'd seen many, many injured people before. Ranulf had been injured before. This would be no different.

Still, rationalization and reality often failed to intersect.

Beside her, Skrimir muttered a continuous stream of profanity and talk of dismembering Vinx. But the words died when they reached a slightly-ajar wooden door. In a worrisomely uncharacteristic display of empathy, Skrimir opened the door slowly and silently. Lethe was too preoccupied to give the king much more than a sidelong glance at his failure to knock before her attention was once more focused on discovering the extent of the damage done to Ranulf.

Clean. The little room was clean. A window opened out into a bright afternoon. A few tapestries hung from the walls, paltry excuse for a semblance of comfort. A flushed young girl stood with arms full of strange pouches and bags by the woman who had been summoned from the dining hall earlier. The older woman sat on the side of the bed in the middle of the room, paused mid-mash over a mortar and pestle to stare at the intruders. Beyond her, creamy, warm blankets covered most of Ranulf.

"Don't touch and don't make a lot of noise," the woman on the bed cautioned briefly before returning to her mashing. "I know it's futile to remove you, highness, but you mustn't agitate him."

"How is he?" Skrimir asked, moving closer to the bed to glance between his friend and the woman.

The cleric's attention remained fixed on her work. "Best as can be expected."

"What does _that _mean?"

"The wound was bandaged quickly," the woman began carefully. "That was good."

"What about the poison? You're an expert."

She cackled softly and without warmth. "Of sorts." She held up a hand at Skrimir's protest. "Don't interrupt. I ran the sample on the blade through some tests before I began this poultice. It's nothing I've ever come across before. I'm basing most of my remedies on basic healing arts and on some of his immediate symptoms, but the wound is too fresh to determine its full extent."

"So now what?" the king demanded.

The woman paused in her work to watch Ranulf's still form thoughtfully. "We'll try this. See what happens. Can't wait too long, though, depending on how bad that poison was."

Skrimir appeared ready to ask more questions, but opted for crossing his arms and staring blankly at his right-hand man.

Lethe had remained by the door upon reaching Ranulf's room. She could hear the footsteps of those left behind approach seconds after her arrival, also stopping and waiting like herself. The officers fell into muted dialogue again, but Lethe did not feel up to joining the conversation. She moved out of the doorway and planted herself a few feet away from Skrimir.

From there she could see Ranulf better—or rather, his head a bit of his shoulders. His distinguishing orange headband had been removed at some earlier point to make way for a cold pack that now lay spent on the nearby table. Even without the constraint, most his ice-blue hair stayed about where it would have been otherwise, minus a few rebellious strands that fell across his forehead. His face was pale and his breathing regular.

The lieutenant sized him up with odd detachment.

Skrimir shifted his weight and Lethe blinked at the noise, conscious of the activity around her again. The stocky male healer who had accompanied their group from the lobby now stood by the cleric, watching with some interest. The older woman grunted and held a hand out to the young girl.

"Purple pouch, labeled _Hyathim extract_."

The girl fumbled for a few seconds amongst the pouches, then passed a large purple one to the patient hand. The cleric carefully poured a specific amount of the potion into her bowl, threw the closed bag in the direction of her apprentice, and reached for a pitcher of warm water on the table. With a sure movement, she poured some of that into her mixture as well and beat the resulting grayish concoction into a thick paste.

"Need fresh rags."

Her apprentice threw a pleading look at the stocky healer, who excused himself from the room and returned a moment later with a wad of white cloths. The cleric muttered something under her breath as she sorted through the rags.

"Get him ready for me," she commanded the healer. "I'll need those old rags gone."

Skrimir and Lethe watched mutely as the man shoved his sleeves further up his harry arms. He pulled the layered blankets off of Ranulf's torso. The prone man's abdomen was tightly bound with layers of white rags, a decent job for one that must have been done quickly. A few patches of blood speckled the wrapping.

Lethe heard a sharp intake of breath nearby and turned to see the cleric's apprentice bite her lower lip as her face colored. Whether this was because of the extent of the wound or Ranulf's musculature, Lethe was not sure, but she almost snorted anyway. It was probably both.

"Help me hold him up?" the healer's eyes met Skrimir's.

"Gladly." He positioned himself rather awkwardly near the head of the bed, brows furrowed as he considered how best to prop Ranulf upright from one side of the bed.

Lethe's countenance relaxed slightly at the king's intensity but lack of planning. "I'll get his other side, Skrimir."

The big man grunted agreement as Lethe moved quickly around the bed. They managed to lift the captain's torso upright with little difficulty—though he was heavier than Lethe had anticipated—and the healer began unwrapping the bandages. With the removal of the wrappings came odors of sanitizing solution and drying blood.

The cleric selected a new strip of linen and waited for the old ones to be completely removed before she prodded with gentle fingers at the knife wound. It was not more than two inches long, but it was deep. Its edges were slightly raised and a new, unusual smell wafted from the injury.

"He's lucky that didn't pierce an organ." The cleric washed the cut with more water before applying a generous heap of the grey paste onto her clean rag. With practiced hands, she wrapped the new rag around Ranulf's abdomen. In moments the new bandage was in place. Skrimir and Lethe laid him slowly back onto the bed and the older woman put a critical hand on the young captain's forehead, her face expressionless. She removed the hand and snatched a lid from the table, placing it onto her poultice mix. With that done, she gathered up her drab skirts and began to replace bags and satchels into her collection of remedies.

Skrimir frowned. "Where are you going?"

"There is some business I must take care of now if I'm going to be needed here for the rest of the afternoon. I'll be back soon; he'll be OK until then."

Without waiting for a reply, the woman finished her tidying and was off, a reluctant apprentice trailing behind her and throwing worried glances over her little shoulder.

"Speaking of business that needs to be taken care of…" It was the pale officer again.

"Does it have to be now?" It was obvious Skrimir knew the answer before asking the question.

"I'm afraid our work is more than cut out for us if you still plan on leaving in a few hours," the tan officer offered with a depreciating grimace.

"Hrrmmm." Skrimir, arms crossed, drummed a set of fingers across one colossal forearm. "Give me a few minutes. I will meet you both back in the throne room."

The pale man appeared ready to protest again, but the other motioned with his head and strode out of the room. Soon both were gone. The stocky healer inspected the captain once more then took his leave as well.

Skrimir and Lethe stood in silence for a few moments, only their and Ranulf's breathing punctuating the stillness. It was obvious that the young king was deep in thought and it did not take much imagination for Lethe to guess where it was probably going. As for her… it somehow felt right to stand there beside him and let him think.

Felt right?

Well, whether it "felt right" or not, she darned well would leave in a few minutes if he stood there too long. She did have work to do, after all…

The drumming fingers stopped and Skrimir released a heavy sigh that sounded like it had been a long time in coming. "What am I supposed to do?"

Lethe assumed the question was rhetorical and was surprised when the monarch turned a puzzled look in her direction. "Erm, I'm not sure what you mean, sir."

Skrimir gestured expansively with a hand in Ranulf's direction. "This! How long do you think he'll be out?"

"Not sure. Nobody knows for sure."

"Bah!" He began pacing intently. "You realize how terrible this is?"

Lethe said nothing, gaze focused on the rise and fall of the captain's chest.

"The timing could not have been worse," Skrimir continued, organizing his thoughts. "I leave with the contingency to Kerm in a few hours. But it's Ranulf who knows all of the tedious little details about this diplomacy garbage. And now he's as good as useless in this healing room and I'm still leaving in a few hours."

Lethe considered the man's troubled face. She had seen something like this coming for a while.

But now was not the time to rub his lack of natural interest in kingly etiquette in his face. Now was the time to make sure Skrimir had no doubts going into the Kerm project, and Ranulf was not currently able to fulfill his customary position of optimistic adviser. "You have had more experience than most laguz with beorc, Skrimir. You're more capable than you give yourself credit for."

Skrimir's narrowed eyes fixed on Ranulf. "Perhaps."

He watched the comatose form on the bed for a moment as if waiting for him to awaken, and then his big red tail began to whip with agitation. "You'd better heal soon," he grunted before shifting his stance to address Lethe. "I must go. And I will require your presence shortly along with our other officers in order to manage Ranulf's duties while he's unavailable." He started for the door, and then stopped. "It would be best if as few people as possible knew what happened."

"Of course," Lethe nodded in agreement. "That would only arouse questions and cause unnecessary panic."

"Yes."

The king took his leave without further comment.

Half a dozen things she knew she had to do before she got entangled in a long session of "So now what?" with Skrimir and friends popped into Lethe's head. She grimaced and stared at Ranulf's pale face as the thoughts tumbled about.

Those images faded as a rather unbidden memory of tearing down halls at twilight like an eight-year-old cub the night before emerged from some secret corner of her mind. And now that she was alone with the unconscious body of the same crazy fool who had concocted that hair-brained idea…

Knees suddenly a bit unstable, she sat on the bed beside the captain, arms crossed.

"Idiot," she muttered at the white face. "Did one dumb thing too many."

Ranulf said nothing.

"So you just get yourself clean knocked out," Lethe continued. "You know how much grief I'm going to get if that infantile kitchen raid leaks out? I'm Lethe the Fierce and No Fun, who can't lose such a hard-earned reputation to one of your dumb ideas. And _I'm_ going to have to take all of that crap because you're here avoiding responsibility and getting felt sorry for. Real mature, as usual."

Amazingly, it did not feel as strange as she had imagined talking to a pale, comatose man. Lethe was aware of other sounds from the healing ward now as well: faint footsteps, occasional coughs, groans of pain, whispers. And the wind still blew in intervals beyond the bright, open window.

"And then there's the whole issue with Skrimir. What a mess. You know how much he depends on you to do anything that involves thinking." With the next thought came a smirk. "And Lyre! Hah, is she ever going to be angry I got to see your cold, listless body first." Furrowed brow. "And so you get me in trouble again, all while you're passed out and without a care in the world. You do have a gift, don't you?"

Lethe narrowed her eyes at Ranulf's closed ones. "This isn't very honorable, me chewing you out when you're so disadvantaged. You'd better pull through this so I can beat you up properly."

Ranulf still said nothing.

"And you look weird without your hat."

The door opened and Lethe nearly jumped out of her skin. She leaped off the bed and threw a cold look at whoever had messed with the dumb door.

It was the healer from before. With some effort, he appeared tactfully unruffled by Lethe's glare. "How is he?"

"Breathing."

"That's… good."

"Yes it is," Lethe agreed expressionlessly, suddenly wanting very badly to leave. She was about to make excuses to go when a warm smile faintly lit the older man's face.

"It's good for him to hear your voice, you know."

Considering what she had actually said, Lethe doubted that. However, she stuck with, "Sure." And then moved quickly on to: "I have to go. Don't let him die."

And with that, she exited before she had to talk to that grinning face any longer. She would not think about him and she sure as heck was done with thinking about Ranulf. Traipsing purposefully through the healing corridors and into the main avenues of the castle towards the throne room, Lethe once more compartmentalized her thoughts and emotions and focused on the task at hand: dealing with damage control.

* * *

**Author comments:**

Pardon the short chapter length and probable grammar errors, but I've been rather awful about updating over the school year and I really wanted *something* out by Christmas. Thus I threw this puppy together. Here's to hoping next semester will be kinder to my writing!

Merry Christmas!


	7. Chapter 7: Catatonic

For most of the afternoon, Lyre was too busy to think much about Ranulf's unexplained absence. She wasted no time in rushing home to start packing, unpacking, repacking, throwing in the pretty collar, exchanging that for a less gaudy one, carefully choosing hair essentials, and taking about three times as long as she should have to prepare under the stress of barely suppressed excitement. Her excitement played a tug-of-war game between seeing Ranulf much more than she usually did for at least a week and the more subtle, but perhaps also more meaningful, joy of recognition.

The Great War that had raged across the known world only a few years ago had allowed her room to bloom in the army that she had never before experienced. It granted her an opportunity to prove herself. That was certainly a start. Especially after the Mad King's War, in which her twin sister had played a key role and she had done nothing more than rounds at the capitol. And worry. She later rationalized the way things panned out by telling herself that Gallia was minimally involved in that conflict anyway and it was only natural that she had little chance of playing a part. Most of the other soldiers had remained, and besides that, the security of the capitol was the most important responsibility she had to her country.

But still…

* * *

She would never forget the day they had returned. Her sister and Ranulf and Mordecai and Gifca. The four of them and the herons, Reyson and Leanne and their father. She had never seen so much fuss made over such a small company. But the fuss was due. The war was won, them the victors and key players in its end. Of course, Lethe was too emotionally distant to play it up much publically. Mordecai was all talk of reconstruction and plans to be made—she had rarely seen the big, gentle man so impassioned. Gifca said little, returning to his shadowy post of protector and counsel to the king.

And Ranulf had smiled, waved, and returned even more irresistible than ever. He nearly glowed with excitement. It was an excitement that affected everyone who came in contact with him. Lyre was certain it was more his influence than even that of the king that swept over Gallia and swayed so many hearts towards the reconstruction of Crimea.

There were celebrations that evening. Preparations had been made almost as soon as the party had returned.

Of all the busyness that followed that evening and weeks afterward, two events had left particularly heavy impressions on her memory. The first occurred during the party after the triumphant return of Gallia's delegates. There were speeches and feasting and music that lasted for hours, and plenty of buzzing conversation. For such short notice, the meal had been prepared deliciously, perhaps mirroring the joy of the cooks.

After the food had come the dancing, wild joyful steps to the lofty notes of pipes, the tingling of bells, the throbbing of raised voices, the heavy beating of drums. The whole forest felt alive with the drumming pulse. Fires were lit, lanterns hung. Children ran in and out of the shrubs and between adults, yelling joyfully, ignorant of the occasion but glad for the exceptionally raucous fun. A sense of togetherness stirred in the blood of all, and Lyre had partied as hardy as the next girl, dancing without a thought of the future. For a day, everyone was united in purpose. For a day, rank and enmities and protocol and tradition did not matter. The sun set and the celebrations continued. It was magical.

But the most magical part came when the music began to slow. When Ranulf had found her and asked for the next dance. He always was a gentleman, even if he diminished the effect with that habitual smirk. Regardless, it was the only dance she could remember much of from that night. His smile, touch, slow movement. How warm he was when she put her own arms around him. They did not say much; there was not much to be said that had not been said already that evening. Besides, she was much too happy to talk for a few minutes anyway. She remembered finally saying she was glad he was back, near the end of the song. He said he was glad to be back. But when the notes faded and she glanced up to meet his eyes, his expression was still far away. They danced a song or two more, but Lyre knew that a part of Ranulf still had not returned to Gallia. She remembered wondering if it ever would.

The second occurrence that Lyre clearly remembered happened later that night. Or the next morning, more accurately. She had returned home practically stumbling from fatigue and the shaky remnants of her exuberant evening, but regretful that the night was over. She had been given that day off in honor of the celebrations, and so planned on sleeping in. Nearly missing a few stairs as she made her way to her bed, Lyre had practically made up her mind then and there to sleep in her sweaty, dusty clothes. She was exhausted.

She probably would have been tired enough to go through with her addle-brained plan if not for her muddled bemusement upon reaching the bedroom loft she shared with her sister. Lethe's bed was covered slapdashidly with supplies from her trip, but the girl herself was absent. Lyre had subconsciously assumed that Lethe would be back already. Past experiences with Lethe's general attitude towards revelry and high-excitement social functions glaringly revealed Lethe's distaste of such tomfoolery. Lethe's friends often joked about whether she had _any _fun at all—outside of her job. Sometimes she stayed out late with work, but this was usually the extent of her unexplained late-night absences.

_Usually…_

Lyre had not been sure at the time why this bothered her so much. But it did. As she sat on her bed, thoughts foggy and dirty day-clothes still draped about her slim figure, it occurred to her slowly that something was different now. Something that tickled the edges of her thoughts but remained just out of her grasp. _Usual _was different now. She must have sat there for a long time, because it was the opening of the front door that startled her from this unanticipated reverie.

She had begun changing distractedly into her chemise by the time Lethe climbed softly into the bedroom. Lyre's norm was again shaken when Lethe, _usually _too caught up in her personal world to offer more than a few grunts before dropping off into deep slumber, launched into a pleasant sort of mindless conversation. Perhaps this should not have seemed so odd considering circumstances and how Lethe had just returned home that day, but the tone of the conversation took Lyre off guard.

They must have been talking about Lethe's trip as they crawled into their beds, because Lethe had mentioned something about how "big the world is" before the talk turned to mostly nonsensical gibberish and then the deep breathing of sleep.

Lyre's sister was back, but she was not the same girl who had left those many months ago. Something had happened, something subtle but undeniable. A softness, an openness colored her actions where there had been little of either in the past. And despite the probability of this change being an improvement, its abruptness fell like a blow on Lyre as she drifted uneasily into sleep.

For better or worse, her equilibrium had been unaccountably disturbed.

And then, only a few years later, as countries struggled to rebuild and all seemed to be progressing as best as could be hoped, the unthinkable happened: another war.

Although Gallia was not the apex of the conflict, it was hit hard. Skrimir, representative of Gallia, became almost immediately involved, and that involvement brought with it pride and pain. Pride in the strength of the Gallian soldiers, their nobility and prowess in battle, their grace and fierce loyalty to their homeland. Pride in standing for truth and justice, pride in making sacrifices for values that ran deep in the blood of every noble Gallian.

But two wars in such close sequence did not go without consequence. In the aftermath was certainly rejoicing and celebration of a hard-earned victory, but this victory was not celebrated without the pervading awareness of the sacrifices made to earn it. "Earn" it. It was earned with blood, blood and life that would never be forgotten.

In light of this, Lyre felt somewhat guilty for her personal journey during the conflict.

It was ironic that the recent war, fraught with destruction, tears, and sobering experiences, had healed some of her deep-seated hurt. Although the connection between herself and her sister could never be the way they had been half a decade ago, the fact that Lyre herself had served with her countrymen in a beorc-laguz war—in the central army, no less—was nothing short of a necessary miracle.

Most of the experience had not been pleasant. Physical and emotional tolls were taken of every soldier, herself included. A long day of trudging through mire, of stop and go, of not knowing what lay in the bushes one hundred yards hence, of wondering if a surprise attack would wake you from your sleep… Lyre more than once nigh regretted her decision to even be a part of the Gallian army.

But when all was said and done, the relationships she built and nurtured, the moments where she knew she was finally a part of something grand, that "something grand" that her close friends had before experienced without her in the earlier Mad King's War… these made all the pain and worry and discomfort worth it. The struggles were foundational to her integration, to her feeling of belonging and purpose. They were part of an experience that she needed to have for many reasons, not least among these the need to feel again connected with her fastest friends. With her kin. Her family.

After the war, life had slowed. Normalcy had returned. And with it, different methods of achieving success and fulfillment in the army. Maintenance, policing, and general peace-keeping were all well and necessary, but when an opportunity that involved traveling and conflict-mediation was open, most serious soldiers yearned for that chance to spread their metaphorical wings, put practice into action, and become more politically active. To be chosen for such a task meant that you were moving up, that you had promise.

* * *

Lyre drew the strings on her travel bag, shoving the last of her cosmetic necessities into the pouches on the front of the storage unit. _And who better to learn from than Captain Ranulf, who was at the forefront of any important policy-making in Gallia?_

The lithe cat laguz pulled on a light brown cloak and swung her pack onto her back, evaluating the ensemble in the tall mirror next to her bed. She tucked some stray strands of hair stylishly into her updo and furrowed her brow in critical appraisal of her reflection. She wanted to look pretty, but had to be careful not to overdo it considering the strictly business-oriented circumstances of her immanent journey.

She tested a smile, which quickly grew into a genuine expression of satisfaction. Business shmisness. The girl in the mirror looked pretty darn good. Good enough for…

Her smile froze. All of the excuses and cover-ups melted away with that thought. That unwelcome welcome daydream that consumed more of her waking hours than she cared to admit. The subtle influence that caused her to recheck her appearance in the nearest reflective surface whenever it casually passed through her mind. The thought that motivated her to try harder than she thought herself capable. The hope that cured a bad day and promised a better tomorrow. The impression that manifested itself into an embarrassing impulse to sit in an empty office and inconveniently fall asleep on an office couch.

Good enough for Ranulf.

Any mention of the man, be it verbal or mental, opened the floodgates of her imagination. Content with the knowledge that she would see him soon anyway, she stifled most of the emotions and memories now vying for her attention, all pieces of her long and complicated friendship with the Captain. One lingered, a recent idea, refusing to be so easily stashed—and that was of how he had chosen her for this mission.

Chosen.

It had to mean _something._

This thought firmly in mind, a bright smile lit her features and she veritably skipped from the room, down the stairs, and out of her home.

This was going to be a fabulous business trip.

* * *

Lethe's afternoon was not so fabulous. Upon leaving the healing ward and joining Gallia's officers she was immediately flung into a flurry of decision-making. Concerns for Ranulf's health were pushed to the back-burner and decisions about operations in which he was directly involved were discussed. It became quickly apparent that not all of the captain's duties could be covered at present, and so the conversation encompassed tasks of immediate import.

What sort of report would be offered as to the captain's condition?

None for a few days, or until the rumors had spread enough to merit confirmation. Best to suspend _that_ inevitable catastrophe for as long as possible.

Was the Kerm project to be delayed?

No, it was too short-notice to call it off now and putting this on hold would only worsen the sudden back-log of projects due to Ranulf's injury. There was some further discussion about Skrimir's absence at such a critical time, but the decision stood. Both he and the captain would have been absent regardless of Ranulf's condition. Considering that fact, the timing for the Vinx disaster could not have been better. And unspoken agreement among those present conceded that perhaps it was time for Skrimir to lead an important mission solo. The previous king, Caineghis, had deemed his nephew a worthy monarch, and Ranulf had taught the young ruler well during previous missions. He was ready, and with the support of his team, would probably not cause any irreparable damage to Gallia's relationship with Crimea.

Ranulf's other tasks had already been divvied-up on account of his assumed participation in the Kerm trip. No one wanted to think about the amount of work it would take to sort through his post-trip duties, and so it was next decided that the post-trip duties would only be discussed if Ranulf did not recover in a few days. Although no one mentioned it aloud, all present knew that Ranulf would not be recovered enough to perform his duties by that time even under the best of conditions. Some sort of follow-up discussion would be necessary at a later time. The thought made Lethe cringe, and she quickly pushed that certainty into the jumble of other burning concerns that threatened her calm handle on the current situation.

A few brief closing remarks, and the mock council-session was adjourned. The lieutenant spent the remainder of the afternoon focusing on mind-numbing tasks, pouring herself into her work fervently.

* * *

It was about time to dismiss the trainees she was overseeing when Lethe was informed by a quiet healing chambers attendant that the captain had regained consciousness. She sent her soldiers packing without explanation from their evening drills and hastened to the healing rooms. As she followed the attendant through emptying halls, she kept overthinking—thinking at all, actually—to a minimum and concentrated instead on preparing herself for whatever condition the captain might be in and how she would deal with it.

She was not, however, prepared for what she _did _encounter when she turned the corner of the main healing corridor into the hallway leading to the more private rooms. Outside of Ranulf's door a crowd had gathered. A crowd of at least two dozen, the number growing even as she watched—composed mostly of women, Lethe noted without surprise. Apprehension hung over the throng like a thick fog. Though the visitors seemed to be attempting a sort of quietness in consideration for the patient, the collective mutterings of worry, encouragement, and "Out of my way, I need to make certain he's okay!"s blended into miniature chaos. Immediately following Lethe's initial shock at the collection of feline laguz was the cynical wonder if Ranulf had not passed out again because of the overbearing concern of his loyal followers.

Lethe was accustomed to masses of people—in the setting of battle. Or training. A setting with rules and organization and hierarchy and controlled emotion. She was not certain of where to even start with this mess_._

The attendant was openly surprised. He mumbled something about getting help and disappeared.

It was one of those few moments that Lethe desperately wished she had Skrimir by her side. He could be intolerable and dense at times, but when he spoke, no one stood in his way. He would have sent the ridiculous flock of overzealous groupies packing in his concern for the Captain, giving Ranulf only a headache rather than sending him back into another coma like Lethe was sure these people were doing. She was fierce, but small, and against this tide of—well, largely estrogen—she was uncertain if her ferocity would be adequate.

A hearty bump into her side sent Lethe reeling. Her thoughts dissipated as she caught herself and snapped her attention to a young healer now a few paces ahead of where she herself had stopped short upon seeing the crowd. The girl turned quickly enough to mutter an unconvincing "Sorry!" before she almost flung herself into the mass of bodies at the door, pushing carelessly past other onlookers, her voice rising from the cacophony of the others.

That did it.

"EVERYBODY OUT!" Lethe bellowed with an expansive gesture, her voice adopting the war-like quality it always did when she shouted orders during an adrenaline-pumping battle.

The noise level dropped almost immediately as each figure turned to assess the source of the order. Any annoyance accompanying the gestures melted away as recognition flooded the faces. Some shuffling began, but all were loathed to part with their hard-earned spots near Ranulf's bedside, even for a calloused lieutenant.

"Are you trying to make him worse?" Straightening, she let anger flood into her face. "Idiots! He just woke up! Do you suppose your hormonal displays of affection are helping him right now? I'm sure the fact that of third of the castle staff is neglecting their jobs and hovering over him is really going to set his mind at ease!"

Indignation flooded more than a few faces, but most were also tinted with uncertainty. Seeing that she would need to use more convincing tactics, Lethe resorted to desperate measures, careful to maintain an exterior calm. "And you call yourselves proud citizens of Gallia." Her eyes sought out the face of each feline as she spoke. "There's no room for rabble-rousers on the castle staff."

"We just want to pay our respects," a black-haired female soldier almost whimpered.

"You can do so tomorrow when he's recovered a bit," Lethe noted authoritatively, pushing her way through the outskirts of the throng.

"How come _you _get to stay?" a male voice demanded indignantly.

Before Lethe could start to concoct an acceptable reason for her admittance, a commanding voice broke through the tension.

"Because _I _want her here!"

It was the wizened herbalist from earlier, followed closely by her mute and flushed apprentice and the attendant who had disappeared moments ago. The old woman stopped in front of the offending man. She stood more than a foot shorter than him, but stared him into silence as she continued. "You should be ashamed of yourself." She addressed the whole crowd. "You all should be! She's right, you have jobs to be doing. You're not helping here. He's still weak and company needs to be kept at a minimum until further notice."

More shuffling.

The woman threw her arms into the air, startling those immediately in front of her. "Now 'git! Go on! Back to work! Don't make me cast incantations on the sorry lot of you!"

The matted grey hair that bounced around the woman's wizened head added to the effect, Lethe mused. Beast laguz had little experience with magic in the confines of the Gallian border, and thus were prone to superstition. A few eyes widened, and the crowd parted, slowly easing away from the door. Lethe followed the herbalist as the older woman waltzed into the room, a strong presence amongst the silenced onlookers. Those left lingering over the sickbed reluctantly joined the migrating palace staff. A petite blonde girl who hovered over Ranulf's head was the last to leave. Frustration tightened her features. With a choked sound, the girl planted a kiss on the captain's face—which part of his face, Lethe could not tell from where stood dumbfoundedly by the door—and rushed from the room. Not before throwing the lieutenant a not-so-inconspicuous expression of barely-contained fury.

The healing attendant excused himself as well with an audible sigh of relief.

As soon as the room was cleared, Lethe slammed the door closed with a foot. "Great goddess above!"

She turned with mixed emotions to assess the captain, beside whom the herbalist stood, her fumbling apprentice already unpacking bags and jars. Ranulf was speaking while the old woman stood with her hands firmly planted on her hips.

"No, I'd like the sit up, thank you. It's ridiculously difficult to feel engaged with one's environment when one's view is limited to the ceiling."

The captain sat with two pillows and an extra sheet stuffed haphazardly behind his back to prop up his torso. His white blanket had undergone some severe crumpling—whether by the patient or his recent guests it was unclear—and lay across his body like an afterthought. His hair was a mess. But what caught and held Lethe's attention were the fresh dots of blood on his torso bandage and the shiny sheen of sweat that covered the visible portions of his pallid skin, soaking into the nearby bedclothes.

The warmth drained from Lethe's face.

Ranulf turned his heterochromatic gaze on the lieutenant with a weak grin. "My guardian lieutenant, just in time as always. I was beginning to wonder at the irony of a newly developing headache hurting more than a knife wound in the gut."

It was too much. After seeing him earlier, lying comatose and on the fringe of the afterlife, white as marble and still as a corpse. Breathing shallow, face blank, ears closed to her voice as she berated him for being so careless. Only yesterday causing trouble and bounding about the castle premises like a cub.

She had buried deeply the morbid thought that he might have passed with the slightest gust of wind not five hours ago and had spent all afternoon trying hard not to think about him at all.

And now he sat there in that same sickbed, covered in his own sweat and blood, just awoken from unconsciousness. And he was cracking jokes.

It was too much.

The sudden pressure in her head made her eyes feel like they were going to burst, and her vision clouded with a vicious onslaught of saltwater. She choked on a curse leveled at him as a wave of unwelcome tears trickled down her face. Beside Ranulf, the herbalist paused in her hovering to watch the display with a carefully blank expression. Her apprentice was not so tactful: the girl dropped the satchel she had been holding to watch with her mouth ajar.

"Goddess, Lethe, are you okay?" Ranulf strained forward from his sitting position, suddenly serious. The impulsive movement caused a sharp flicker of pain to contort his face, and he hissed as he slumped once more into the pillows and blanket. He addressed the woman beside him through gritted teeth: "Could you give us a moment?"

The herbalist scowled, but did not protest. "It may be your hide, but you've got the stability of a kingdom riding on your wellness." She stepped away from the bed, motioning to the attentive apprentice. "The girl and I are going to fetch some hot water. When I get back: no more delays. You hear?"

"Loud and clear."

Lethe suppressed the urge to follow the two healers out the door as they made their exit. Instead, she attempted to scrub the damp off of her face with a gloved hand during the brief moment that Ranulf's attention was focused on his departing medics. She tried not to over-think how dumb she must have looked by tearing-up, knowing full-well that careful consideration of her actions would probably finish the job of convincing her to close the distance between herself and the hallway. She exhaled an expletive.

"What's eating you?" Ranulf asked, carefully propping himself up so that the movement would cause minimal pain.

"_That._" Lethe pointed an accusing finger in his general direction, voice harsh as she overcompensated in her attempt to rid it of emotion. "You got a knife stuck in your gut. It freaks me out when you're supposed to be sick and you're laying there talking it up like a blasted one-man comedy show."

Angry and not entirely rational, Lethe furrowed her brow. Before she could continue, her eyes met Ranulf's. The words caught in her throat as the awareness of how close he had come to dying hit her full force. How close she had come to losing her friend. And how real and alive he was right now, staring back at her wordlessly. Her arm dropped as the chill crept over her body again.

Ranulf smiled faintly, eyes serious. "Fine. Wanna know how I really feel right now? Every movement hurts like stink. When I sat up back there, I thought I was going to pass out. All I really want right now is sleep. That, however, would be irresponsible. It's kinda funny, when you think about it." The smile spread. "You'd assume a near-death experience would be enough to get everyone off your back for a while." He laughed, but it turned into a cough that sent him back into his pillows again.

"It's not funny."

Ranulf closed his eyes against the pain. "Maybe not."

Something the healer had said earlier that day intruded into Lethe's mind, and her eyes focused blearily on Ranulf's face.

"What?"

"The herbalist mentioned earlier that the blade was poisoned."

The captain's eyes met hers again. "Oh, that's right. I'd forgotten about that part." He thought about the idea for a moment, summing his cognitive activity up with a: "Huh. Hope she knows her stuff."

"Yeah," Lethe trailed off, remembering more of the conversation now. And how the healer had not "known her stuff." Maybe she had a better handle on the poison now. A lot could change in a few hours. And Lethe was too exhausted to consider the alternative. She slumped into the healer's stool by the head of the bed.

"You're not supposed to be mortal, Ranulf," she managed in a thin voice, hands limp in her lap.

"Yeah, I'll work on that." He searched her face, then carefully lifted a hand to chuck her under her chin. "Just don't worry about it too much, 'kay? You're not supposed to worry."

Though the movement seemed to drain him a bit more, it was good to feel his touch. To have that kinesthetic reassurance of his vitality. "I'm not worried."

"Don't kid yourself." Ranulf grinned. "Heck, it's nice to know you care."

"Of course I care."

Ranulf smiled. He cocked his head as his eyes clouded thoughtfully. "They didn't cancel the Kerm project, did they?"

Lethe shook her head. "No." Talking work was a nice distraction from Ranulf's injuries.

"Good." The captain's shoulders dipped as tension ebbed from his frame. "It's for the best. Skrimir needs this opportunity. Hopefully he doesn't anger too many beorc officials in the learning process."

The image of Skrimir doing just that readily played itself through Lethe's imagination. Considering how far he had already come diplomatically since the last war, however, she found idea of such an event more comical that concerning now. "Chances are you'll be able to smooth any ruffled feathers."

Ranulf made an unconvinced face that dissolved into a careless smirk. "Not much I can do about it until then. The experience should be good for your sister, too."

Lethe's expression blanked with this news. "Lyre? I thought she wasn't going."

"Changed my mind last-minute."

He was probably right about it being a good experience for Lyre. Undoubtedly, Lyre would beg to differ after she discovered Ranulf's absence from the party.

Lethe wondered for the thousandth time if Ranuf was aware of the extent of her sister's infatuation. It was so obvious—he had to have at least a vague notion. Regardless, details he had not gathered were between herself and her twin, so she shied away from any indication of this train of thought. "She often feels underappreciated. The feeling of late has been acute. To be a part of a diplomatic entourage led by the king himself will be an honor."

Ranulf nodded, pleased. "I thought as much. She seemed restless."

The conversation tapered into silence as each entertained private thoughts. Lethe positioned her elbows on her knees and propped her face in her hands, staring contemplatively at the floor. Ranulf's awareness of her sister's recent mood made her speculate if perhaps there was some hope for Lyre's romantic pursuits after all.

"Wonder where they put that knife," Ranulf muttered after a few seconds.

"No idea."

Ranulf glanced at the ceiling. "So helpful."

Lethe rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you're comatose all afternoon and I really care a whole lot about some dumb knife. I hope they bury it in Vinx's heart when they're done questioning him."

"I..." The captain grimaced. "Hmm."

The lieutenant regarded his thoughtful expression, curious. "What do you need the knife for?"

"I'm not sure yet."

"How enigmatic of you."

"Hey, give me some credit!" Ranulf laughed lightly.

Lethe shook her head in mock disappointment. "I dunno if I can do that, Ranulf. We were all expecting you to be thinking clearly and back to work by now."

His eyes met hers as he grimaced conspiratorially. "I knew it. They sent you here to reprimand me, didn't they?"

"You got me," Lethe conceded jokingly, allowing herself a faint smile.

A loud knock resounded at the door. "Coming in!" the herbalist barked, although the warning was unnecessary as she was already barging into the room.

Ranulf leveled a familiar captain-class mischievous grin at Lethe before he turned his attention to the older woman and her apprentice. Lethe excused herself from the stool as pots, satchels, and a basin of steaming water were swiftly distributed about the bedside. The older woman was already questioning the captain about specific areas of pain, prodding him carefully with a sure hand. Lethe was not sure if she was being tolerated or if the healer honestly did not care that she was still there. She met the eyes of the young apprentice, who bit her lip over an exasperated smile and shrugged.

"I'm taking off," Lethe blurted into a break of the interrogation.

"M'kay," the healer grunted without inflection, swift fingers examining the captain's bandages and motioning for the apprentice to bring new bandages.

"Thanks for stopping by," Ranulf offered genially over the grey head.

"Of course." She stopped by the door. "See you tomorrow."

"Good," Ranulf grunted as the herbalist poked at a tender spot. "And with that assurance, I'll be able to stay sane despite all of my well-meaning visitors."

Lethe grinned and left the room, closing the door soundly behind her.

* * *

Author's Note: Finally another chapter! Not a ton of action in this one, so hopefully I'll get the chance to pump some o' that stuff into the next. Happy summer, all!


	8. Chapter 8: Let sleeping cats lie?

Lethe hissed and nearly attacked the shadow looming over her before her semi-conscious mind recognized it to be Mordecai.

"You'd better have a darned good reason for this," she grunted, sitting up in bed. What in the blazes was he doing here at whatever hour of the night this must be? And couldn't he have knocked?

"I knocked for some time. You did not answer," he explained, as if reading her mind.

"I don't have many callers in the middle of the night."

"Ah, hrmmm, yes, I know that."

She frowned. "So why are you here?" Mordecai never intruded on her without reason. A _good_ reason. Whatever brought him must have been important.

"Ranulf, he…" Mordecai trailed off in thought. The big man sighed. "Come with me."

Worry from two days before—or was it still yesterday?—resurged in Lethe's chest as she bolted out of bed. "What? What's going on?"

Mordecai's fierce features twisted into an impressive scowl. "The boy is, grrrr…irrational? You must speak with him."

"He's not worse, is he?" she prodded, fumbling around her drawers for her day-clothes and throwing intermittent glances over her shoulder to judge her friend's expressions.

When she had dropped into the healing ward to visit Ranulf yesterday, he had been sleeping soundly under the influence of heavy medication. She had spoken with the herbalist, who noted that while the gash was healing rapidly, she still was at a loss concerning the poison. She had sent a messenger to an acquaintance of hers who had more knowledge of such concoctions, but would have to wait on any reply for a few days yet. Until then, she would keep a careful eye on the progression of the injury and keep Ranulf medicated so that overexertion would not cause the poison to spread quicker.

"Not yet." The big man looked tired and unhappy.

"Not yet?" Lethe repeated dumbly. She held a pair of shorts in one hand, ready to slip them under her chemise.

Now he looked uncomfortable. "I will wait downstairs for you to get dressed. We can talk more on our way."

"Oh, right."

Lethe dressed as quickly as she could and made her way down the stairs in the process of tying a knot in the laces of her shirt. She motioned toward the door with a free elbow. "After you."

Mordecai led her at a brisk pace through twisting, overgrown back roads towards the palace. Although Lethe had been offered apartments deep in the capitol city near the castle as her rank in the army increased, she had declined the proposition in favor of a home with more privacy. That had been the intent, at least, though Lyre's highly outgoing nature subjected their shared quarters to so much social activity that the decision seemed almost silly now.

Lethe followed her hulking friend out of the dense forest and into the sparser growth of younger trees and thinner shrubbery that marked the beginning of the heart of the capitol. The path became more distinct and paved, houses cropped up just off of the trail, and their trail grew steeper as it approached the hill-bound fortress. Familiar territory for the lieutenant. Her mind processed most of her surroundings with an indistinction bred from that familiarity—crossing the creaky bridge over the creek, passing under the stone archway that spanned the distance between two rocky outcroppings that were part of a higher tier of the city, turning past the bakery that coupled as a home to an elderly cat laguz who often sent her to work with a free pastry because she was unaccountably one of his favorites.

The big tiger laguz took an unexpected turn and Lethe halted in the middle of the cobblestone walk before an inactive neighborhood. Nearby, her sharp ears picked up the sounds of slowing revelry at what must have been a tavern. "Where are you going?"

"His house." Mordecai rumbled into the quiet night, pausing to look back at her.

Lethe blanched, rooted into the stone beneath her thin shoes. "He's not supposed to be there, is he?"

"Grrrrr, no." He looked concerned again.

Lethe sighed and followed her friend down the street once more. This part of the capitol was not so well-known to the lieutenant, as it was mostly residential and of therefore lesser concern to her. The relative novelty of this trail pricked her senses, and she inadvertently paid more attention now to the big homes that passed between the ever-present trees and an increasing number of thin, white streams that accented the pristine surroundings of an upper-class neighborhood. Although the homes were not mansions in any beorc sense, the attention to prime location and extensive architecture classified them as such to a beast laguz. The path itself reflected the dignity of the locality, sporting intermittent, detailed lampposts that shone warm light onto the colored mosaics of the trail.

A few houses in, Mordecai turned off of the trail and made his way up a planked path to Ranulf's residence. Compared to the neighboring residences, his was simple and practical. Faint light flickered in a few of the windows both upstairs and down.

Lethe grumbled and rolled her eyes when Mordecai knocked at the door, the memory of how _she _had woken up all to clear still in her mind.

A few seconds later, the door opened to an annoyed captain.

"Hello Mr. Sunshine," Lethe growled, peeved at the greeting considering the sleep she had sacrificed for his wellbeing. "And what if it _hadn't _been us at the front door?"

Ranulf leaned against the doorframe and crossed his arms with a smirk. "I could smell you through the door. Mordecai, when you said you'd be 'right back,' I assumed you needed to take a trip to the little boy's room."

Mordecai's expression darkened. "Grrrr, you are being foolish, Ranulf."

"What's going on?" Lethe pressed.

Ranulf looked her over thoughtfully. "Well, I was bound to face your wrath sooner or later, I suppose. You'd better step inside before someone notices you." He pushed himself off of the doorframe to allow them room to do so. He closed the door soundly behind them.

Lethe did not often visit Ranulf's home. Its floor-level was mostly tidy due to disuse more than anything else. Except for the kitchen area, which looked as if it had been raided by bandits. Food littered the table, along with some water skins and a knapsack. Amongst the mess were wrapped packages. She frowned and leveled a questioning look first at the captain then at Mordecai, crossing her arms. "One of you had better start talking."

Mordecai's deep voice was laced with concern. "He says he's going to Crimea."

Lethe's eyes widened in disbelief as she wheeled on the captain. "You're what?"

Ranulf seemed genuinely peeved. "Cute, Mordecai. Very tactful. Now I sound insane."

"If this isn't some sick joke, you _are _insane!" Lethe hissed. "Somebody's been on too many meds!"

Mordecai tipped his head toward the shorter man. "You see?"

Ranulf crossed his arms. "Contrary to popular belief, I have very good reasons behind my decision."

"Can't be good enough that they can't wait." Lethe shook her head in disbelief of what she was hearing. "You shouldn't even be walking right now."

Ranulf closed his eyes, brows furrowed. "Mordecai…"

"You would not listen to me!" Mordecai spread his hands. "You are not well enough to be traveling."

"That's the whole point," Ranulf grunted. "I won't be going anywhere if I don't go to Crimea now."

Lethe stiffened at the odd strain in his voice. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Ranulf's eyes snapped open and he met her fierce gaze with one that was equally determined but now collected. His anger had either vanished or been carefully tucked away and he spoke now with little emotion. "My flesh wound is healing rapidly, although it is true that it's still not mended enough for me to be safely out of bed."

"So here you are."

The smile he flashed her was hollow. "Yes, well, it's not just a flesh wound." He stepped over to his cluttered table and picked up a knife. Its blade was tightly wrapped in black leather. "This is the blade Vinx stabbed me with. It's coated in a poison foreign to Gallian healers, our resident herbalist included."

Lethe thought she understood. "If you're worried about that, I visited yesterday while you were konked out on drugs. The healer said she had sent a currier to an associate who specializes in obscure poisons. You should have your cure within a few days."

"Maybe. If there's a cure to be found, which is another concern that I am not interested in considering right now. But I may have waited if I hadn't gotten a look at the damage a few hours ago." He grimaced, and then laughed depreciatingly. "And then it occurred to me: where better to look for the cure to a beorc poison then amongst the beorc themselves?"

Ranulf studied the wrapping on the knife thoughtfully, still coming to full terms with his decision. "I have connections in Crimea, people I trust. I'll find Ike and enlist the help of some of the healers in his company. If they aren't familiar with the poison, Bastian would undoubtedly have connections with a trustworthy and specialized healer. I might even be able to contact Volke, who no doubt has written the book on obscure methods of murder." He paused in his inspection of the weapon and looked up, again meeting her still incredulous gaze. "Perhaps most importantly, the responsibility of my health will rest on my own shoulders. I'm confident I have more of a vested interest in it than some unknown Gallian healer." Besides the fact that although he had been unconscious for most of the experience, his being bed-ridden was already chaffing incredibly.

He replaced the knife on the table and watched Lethe's expression as she considered what he'd just dumped on her. She was past the stage of outright skepticism of his plan and now seemed to believe it had enough merit to warrant some thought. A wave of fatigue washed over him in the wake of the burst of activity. With it, a throbbing pain from his abdomen began to nag at his senses over the heavy dose of drugs that still flowed through his blood stream.

He ignored both.

"There's still the question of how wise it is for you to travel with a shredded stomach," she noted.

"'Shredded,' thankfully, is a bit of an exaggeration." He smiled, glad he hadn't let the pain show on his face. It would have made for a poor supporting argument. "I'll manage with Mordecai's help, assuming he's still agreed to accompany me despite his obvious reservations."

Mordecai, who, until this point, had been silent during Lethe's debriefing, nodded slowly. "I will not break my word: I will still go with you. I have said my piece. Though I may not believe this to be the wisest choice, you are my friend and I will support you to the best of my ability."

"Have I told you recently what an awesome guy you are, Mordecai?"

Some flicker of relief must have crossed his face—when his eyes turned toward Lethe, she was studying him intently. "Sit down, Ranulf. If you pass out now there's no way I'm letting you go through with this addle-brained scheme."

For all of her icy bravado, she could be surprisingly, annoyingly intuitive. He nonetheless thumbed at the staircase. "I'm not infirmed—and besides, there's no time for sitting if I want to get loaded up and out of here without anyone else getting involved in time to stop me."

"Let me handle that."

He frowned. "Really, I—"

To his and Mordecai's surprise, Lethe wheeled on him and grabbed his shoulders, roughly pushing him into a nearby couch. The consequential pain made him exhale sharply and swear. "Dangit, Lethe!"

Mordecai had crossed the room and now placed a large, firm hand on her arm. "Lethe…"

"Will you stop killing yourself trying to do everything on your own?" She glared forcefully at the seated man. "Let us handle this, okay?"

Sweeping soreness, irritation, and an acute awareness of her proximity swam about the captain's sensory system. His brain struggled to compute all three for the briefest second before a faint smile played at the edges of his mouth and he found himself saying: "Okay." It wasn't worth arguing now.

Her fingers tightened on his shoulders and he could feel the shiver that ran through her body before she abruptly released him and advanced on the staircase to his bedroom. Mordecai's hand hovered uncertainly in the air where her arm had been as he and Ranulf both watched her departure.

"Pick clothing that flatters my figure!" Ranulf called after her with a big grin, emotions and pain again pushed safely into the back of his mind. Although she ignored the comment, he could almost feel her annoyance.

Mordecai appeared to be deep in thought, and he glanced down at Ranulf in question. The captain shrugged nonchalantly and Mordecai dropped whatever it was that was nagging at him to begin packing the supplies scattered about the kitchen. The big man hummed a deep, rumbling folk tune. Upstairs, soft footfalls and the occasional slammed drawer could be heard. Ranulf let the sounds wash over him and concentrated on experimentally stretching his limbs and wondering what he had gotten himself into.

He was only half surprised when Lethe returned downstairs about ten minutes later, dumped his now stuffed pack onto the floor, and stated, "I'm coming with you."

He laughed and shook his head. "Ohhh no you're not."

"Maybe she should," Mordecai rumbled from where he was re-shelving unnecessary items in the other room.

"You'll be safer with me along," she noted blandly, hands on hips.

"I'm still sore from the last time you tried to make me safer. Besides, with Skrimir and me gone, someone needs to stay here and man the fort."

She crossed her arms defensively and glanced sidelong. "Sorry. It was the only way I could think to make you slow down. And we have plenty of decent leadership to cover for you here and you know it."

Her sincere apology came as another surprise and he raked a hand through his ice blue hair. She had a point—with her aid, not only would they likely make better time but the inherent dangers of traveling diminished greatly as well.

"Fine." He pushed himself carefully up from his seat. There was one last order of business to be taken care of before they departed. "I'll need to write a note letting everyone know we're MIA purposefully."

* * *

The easiest way to the Greil Mercenaries' base of operations was by boat from the new harbor that Gallia sported in the wake of the Mad King's War, and so it was to there the small party set its sights. It had the added bonus of not intersecting with the rout of Skrimir and his companions.

Travel was slow. Despite his resolve to appear fit for hard travel, Ranulf needed frequent rests because of his injury, which was steadily worsening. Lethe and Mordecai made sure these breaks were observed. Their progress was further hampered because he demanded that they avoid main roads and utilize rivers and other natural resources to leave as little evidence of their passage as possible. It was likely a search party had been composed upon the herbalist's return to his quarters in the healing hall the morning of that first day, and Ranulf was determined to avoid that as well.

They camped on a rocky outcropping that boasted the natural defenses of surrounding rock walls on two sides and a thirty foot drop into trees and bushes below on a third. The weather shifted from partly cloudy and cool to totally cloudy and humid by evening—by the time they began to think about setting up tarps, sporadic droplets of rain were nicking faces and arms and peppering their rock ledge in dark dots. Ranulf insisted on helping set up the tarps to the chagrin of Lethe and Mordecai, but thankfully fell quickly into a deep sleep on his still-rolled supplies before he could do further damage to himself. This was mostly due to the heavy dosage of drugs she had administered to his drinking water, Lethe supposed as she and her large companion finished setting up camp.

The next day heralded similar gloomy weather, the rain falling steadily in first torrents then a light drizzle. All of the party knew this to mean that they were nearing the ocean—the rain was more pervasive on the coastal side of the mountains. They all donned thick, woolen cloaks in anticipation of continued poor weather. By nightfall or early next morning, Lethe guessed they would reach the harbor town, which was built at the heart of the large gulf near the center of the Gallian sea border. From there, as long as good sea-faring weather held, they would have no trouble procuring a boat even without a reservation.

It was around midday when she heard movement in the nearby forest over the presently subtle drizzle of rain. Their party had taken a break at a clearing and Mordecai had used the opportunity to go fishing in a nearby pond for a late meal. Ranulf had fallen into a drugged cat-nap against a nearby tree, arms crossed and face blank.

Lethe's gaze fixed on the source of the sound. The clearing she and the captain presently occupied was blanketed in a thick covering of short, twiggy brush and flowering bushes. Except for Ranulf's stalwart napping-tree that jutted from its center, the patch of land was relatively open. The sound had emanated from deeper within the murky grey woodland, rather than in the direction of the river and Mordecai. After a few moments of listening and watching without result, her vision roved the trees and fell on the captain. Although he had not moved, his eyes were open and expression alertly trained on the surrounding trees. She felt, more than saw, the tension in his body.

Forcing herself to relax, Lethe rolled her shoulders and settled into an apathetic position, twining her fingers through her cloak idly. Most likely, the movement had come from a wild deer or boar that would discover their presence and move on. If not, her affected unawareness would bait anything that hunted them. In other circumstances, she would have leapt into the trees and done some hunting herself, but abandoning an injured and groggy Ranulf would only invite trouble. She mentally cursed the uselessness of her nose and ears in the rainy weather.

Ranulf apparently shared her idea of luring whatever was in the forest into a sense of false security—though his methodology of doing so was somewhat different.

After waiting a few more minutes without results, he shifted his weight and yawned largely from beneath his cowl, speaking through the yawn. "Wonder how Mordecai's doing."

"Look who's up," Lethe grunted in response, recovering quickly from the clarity of the sound amidst the muted patter of rain.

"I don't sleep well when I'm soggy." He grinned a little too widely, eyes still somewhat glazed. "Can't imagine that river'll make Mordecai any more wetter than he must have been already."

"More wetter, hmm?" Lethe wondered fleetingly how much of Ranulf's wooziness was affected, and pushed that troubling inquiry out of her mind.

"More wetter," Ranulf repeated thoughtfully, liking the sound of his botched grammar in his half-inebriated state. "Yup, it's a regular ol' rainforest this side of the mountains. It's no wonder that delegation from Ophrem was so violet. Weather like this would make anyone ill-tempered."

"You don't sound that ill-tempered yourself," Lethe noted. Regardless of its origins, his mood was disarmingly amusing.

"I'm not usually the ill-tempered type," he agreed whimsically. "I'm quite political that way."

Lethe studied him with a mockingly critical squint. "You? Quite political?"

"And why not, pray tell?"

Something moved in the trees. "You're just not scummy enough."

"How _dare_ you."

"It's true. People actually like you and we just can't have that from a serious politician." It was easy to banter with Ranulf, even with her senses focused on the woods behind him. How many were there…?

"They _do?_" He sounded horrified, his expressions amplified by the drugs. "I'll have my work cut out from me when we get back, I guess."

Lethe shrugged apologetically, the motion somewhat tight.

_Snap!_

Ranulf's eyes flickered and he laughed lowly. "You know… you should try to be funny more often."

"Is that an order, sir?"

* * *

"Don't move; we have you surrounded!"

Ziska leapt from the forest into the scrubby underbrush of the clearing, flattening a handful of little white flowers with his entrance. He could sense his three other companions nearby, still concealed amongst the trees. He watched the startled expression of the man with some satisfaction—he had wondered briefly if the travelers had been alerted to his presence earlier, but now that trepidation was eased. The boy may be a politician, but he certainly was no watchful warrior. The girl was no better, although both apparently had gall in that they had flagrantly disregarded his demand and now stood.

"What do you want?" The male demanded coolly.

"I said don't move!" Ziska barked, blood pounding still from the sneak attack as he approached him, leaving a trail of flowery destruction in his wake. "I'll ask the questions. What are you doing here?"

"I didn't know that travel was restricted anywhere on Gallia," the young man noted with a raised eyebrow.

"Answer the question!"

"We're vacationing to Crimea."

"You seem to be headed in the wrong direction."

"…By boat. We want to visit the capitol first and that's the quickest way."

Ziska grunted. The answer was sound. "Why don't you use more well-traveled trails?"

"That's awfully boring, don't you think?" the young man laughed

_Spoiled noble politicians. _"The woods can be dangerous, boy."

The other shrugged.

That attitude of his was grating on Ziska's nerves, and he motioned for his men in the woods to make their way into the clearing. The girl watched with some interest. Good. "If you don't want to get hurt, you'll answer one more question and I might let you off easy."

"Shoot," the younger man said with a cocky grin. The girl turned toward him sharply.

Ziska fought the urge to strangle him. "You said something about Ophrem earlier. What was it?"

The other man gave him a curious look that seemed somehow familiar to him. "About the delegates being pissy?"

"'Ill-tempered' and 'violent' were the terms you used." Ziska grunted with some distaste.

Grin. "Ah, yes. Apparently there was a brawl between the Ophrem delegates and some of the castle guards. It sounded pretty exciting."

"Sounded? You weren't there?"

"Nope, though I know a few people who were." He tapped his head with a smile. "Connections, you see."

_Idiot pup. _

He'd teach that boy some manners.

He aimed a sharp blow at the boy's face, but to his surprise, his target blocked his thrust easily, eyes flashing. The movement, however, caused the younger man's hood to be jarred from his head, revealing pale blue hair and a familiar orange bandana. Ziska suddenly realized he was staring squarely into the heterochromatic eyes of the king's right-hand man. All stupidity and grogginess was gone from that hard face.

"_Shades!_" He cursed. He noted belatedly that the girl had thrown her cloak—she looked familiar as well—and was gleaming as she shifted forms. "Seize them!" he yelped frantically, though his men were already in action.

A cold grin crossed Ranulf's face as he and Ziska leaped backward, both shifting. Ziska was a powerful tiger laguz, but he had heard stories about the captain that were enough to temper his battle-lust. Both now felines, they circled each other, looking for an opening.

He noted with surprise that the blue cat was bandaged tightly about his middle, but he had little time to ponder this before the other took advantage of his distraction and charged with a roar. He was dimly aware of the sounds of his comrades scrambling with the girl amidst hissing and yelps of pain as he was brought to the ground by the force of the cat's attack. They fell hard in a tangled jumble of paws and tails, and he bit wildly as they rolled in the wet undergrowth, smacking at each other with strong paws.

His forepaw connected with his assailant's chest and he heard the cat hiss in pain. There was no respite for Ziska, however, as the damage only seemed to infuriate his opponent further. Ranulf went straight for his neck, ignoring continued battering to his smaller frame. Ziska's vision began to dance and his attacks became more intense—fear rippled in dark waves through his body as he choked for air.

And then he was suddenly free, his attacker forced to jump back as one of Ziska's cat companions clobbered the captain from the rear and sent him to the ground. Nearby, he heard the girl yowl as she disengaged, bloodied, from the downed Belan to cover for Ranulf before he suffered further damage. Ziska pushed himself to his feet and crouched, vision still fuzzy but determined to end this before he blacked out.

"_GRAAAAWWWRRR!_"

Frig, the other tiger laguz of his party and a man larger than Ziska himself, uttered a strangled hiss of surprise as the bulk of a new assailant knocked him to the ground. Ziska had only the briefest heartbeat of time to recall "Mordecai" from Ranulf and the girl's conversation earlier before he barely managed to block a blow to his eyes from Ranulf. He battered back, felt his talons connect with skin and heard the other man's grunt before fiery pain lanced from his shoulder to his gut—his underside had been left briefly unprotected.

Briefly was enough.

His focus now was simple: survival. Desperately he tried to push himself to his feet again and put distance between himself and the opponent that swam blearily in his vision. The cacophony of yelps, roars, scuffling, falling bodies, snapping undergrowth, increasing rainy downpour mixed into a confusing roar of noise, and he was dimly aware of a blow to his head that must have made his brain swim in his cranium before sounds, sights, and feeling began to fade.

"Traitors!" He accused in a roar without hearing himself before blackness enfolded him entirely.

* * *

Ranulf steadied his beorc form with a hand on the ground, breathing heavily. With a grimace, he pushed himself into a standing position as the adrenaline still pumping in his blood prevented him from being overcome by pain and blacking out. He surveyed the secured bodies of their assailants with a critical eye and noticed the bigger of the two enemy tiger laguz, now in unshifted form, begin to stir.

Lethe, bruised and scratched but otherwise not critically injured form the brawl, wheeled instinctively on the sturdy man and swung a foot back to send him again into painless oblivion.

"Wait!"

She paused and saw Ranulf limp clumsily in her direction. Before she could protest anything, he knocked the man face-first into the ground with a well-placed kick in the back and kneeled on top of him, constricting his breathing. The big man tried to speak, but the words were garbled.

"You'll talk or I will maul you beyond recognition!" Ranulf hissed darkly, his face void all traces of goodness.

"Wha d'you want?" The scarred man grunted, blood dripping from his mouth as he spoke. He appeared to be about middle-aged, scruffy stubble dotting his tan face. His hair was tangled with grass and dirt, his body covered in grime and scratches from the fight. Lethe watched without expression. Mordecai stood nearby, obviously uncomfortable with Ranulf's behavior but determined to trust the battered captain.

"Why was that envoy sent to the capitol?"

"Our village… was ravaged by storms—"

Ranulf fiercely grasped his hair and slammed his face into the ground, sending a shudder of pain through the man's helpless body. He brought his mouth close to the man's furry ear and yelled: "WHY WAS THE ENVOY SENT TO THE—"

"ARRGH! TO STOP THE KING!"

Ranulf froze where he sat on the prone man, whose nose now appeared to be broken. Lethe and Mordecai exchanged quick glances. Beneath Ranulf, the man began to shudder as he gasped for air. The captain eased into a position that still pinned the big man but allowed him to breathe.

"To stop him?" He repeated coolly.

"Yes!" The tiger laguz wheezed. "I don't know anything else."

"Why did he want to stop him?" Ranulf demanded, voice still intent although he shuddered now from suppressed pain.

"I don't—"

Ranulf readjusted his position and grabbed the other man's hair again.

"THE HUMANS!" the big man yelled before further damage could be done. "The bloody, cursed humans!"

"Tell me more," Ranulf insisted, face close to his victim. The color had drained from his features, though he kept a firm handle on his unwavering voice.

The ground-bound man shook his head. "What's to tell? The way that man fraternizes with humans is contemptible. Dishonorable." He laughed, the blood dripping from his mouth as he did so. "I don't care if you kill me for saying so, sir, because someone had to say something." He moaned and when Ranulf shook him again, this time more gently, he was unresponsive.

The captain stood up shakily, staring down at the ruin of a man below him in thought. "We just might, you know." When he turned towards Lethe and Mordecai, the hardness of the interrogation no longer masked his features, though his eyes remained hollow. "I guess I really will have my work cut out for me when we get back."

* * *

Author's Note: YES. ACTION. FINALLY. GAH. Now we just need some more Lyre and Kyza and everything'll be all dandy.

And can I just say that people sure "black out" a lot in this story? Haha, I think that must be, like, officially a literary tool of mine now. :D


	9. Chapter 9: Catching a Clue

"What's this?"

"Don't touch that!"

"But what _is_ it?"

"All aboard!"

"Hold up!"

"Put your backs into it, boys! My grandma could do better, and she's 160!"

"Watch out!"

"The dock's no place for loitering, miss! Where be your destination?"

"Best be getting off the streets soon. It'll be dark soon, I wager."

Snippets of words, phrases, music, conversation that came and went as sounds from others rose to take its place. Ranulf turned from the bustle of dock-side activity below his rooftop perch. Amidst the sounds of hurrying feet, curious tourists, and the typical array of port town characters sighed creaking seacraft and the eternal lap of waves against rock and wood. The smells of dead fish and salt saturated the sea air. To either side of the captain ran rows of one and two storey establishments, some dedicated to maintaining the routine of the ship yard and others—such as hotels and sea-side dining—pandered to the sudden inflation of tourism since the establishment of a Gallian port. Many of the buildings were obviously new, lacking in the character that edifices develop over the passing of years. The town hummed with the liveliness of promise and new beginnings.

Ranulf rather liked the atmosphere. Like so many little changes that had blossomed since the end of the war and the beginning of Skrimir's reign, this too warmed the captain's chest faintly with pride. The business, the growth, the promise of life and cooperation… Gallia's silent acknowledgement and welcome to other peoples with the operation of a port and seafaring transport. And to top it all off, the sun was just now setting over the ocean, coloring bottoms of clouds and tops of waves with fiery reds, oranges, and pinks. Maybe he was just a tad sentimental, but Ranulf couldn't hide the small smile that tipped the corners of his mouth.

"Keep it up, Gallia."

The smile faded as the captain remembered his run-in with the rabble-rousing knave from Ophrem earlier that same day. He, Lethe, and Mordecai had left the man unconscious in the clearing in which they'd found him, along with his friends. There was really not much they could do, due to the importance of speed in their own mission.

Change was never without its opponents. Especially change that involved deep-seated hatred and pain that traced its roots back hundreds of years. And it would be naïve to pretend that the trail of brokenness was entirely a thing of the past. The last war made it more than clear that the sins of the past were difficult and costly to rectify. To say that the sentiment of leading political figures was shared by all their constituents would be foolishness. There were many bruised hearts that would take much time to win over, and some, the captain knew, were beyond hope's reach.

But not to try would be to feed generations of sin. Not to try would be to cheapen the lives of Tellius's future children. Not to try would be the easiest path, but the easiest path is often not the right path.

With a quick adjustment to the cowl that covered his head, Ranulf swung his feet over the edge of the building's awning, landing on the cobbled road beneath. The impact sent a reminder through his body that things were not quite as well with him as they were with the world. Ranulf winced and grinned mockingly. "Darn you too, body."

* * *

The _Wanderer's Rest_. Ranulf pushed open the door and stepped into a lounge that made up the bottom floor of the small inn. The building was older than many in town, having been established before plans for a port were ever considered. As such, it had a worn, cozy feel, with furniture as old as the captain and twice as worn, décor collected over years littering windowsills and nooks, and a clientele that oozed conformability as they sat in little groups by tables, at the bar, and near the fire. It was the perfect place to spend the night before leaving for Crimea on an early cargo boat the next morning. The captain had remembered the inn from his travels in the past, and had booked a night as soon as he, Mordecai, and Lethe had come upon the town.

Thoughts of tomorrow reminded Ranulf of his companions, and he scanned the room briefly for Lethe and Mordecai and he removed his cowl. The three had split for the evening to explore the town and collect supplies for the next day. Ranulf fingered the pack under his arm, slightly bulkier now from a few minor acquisitions.

"Can I help you?"

Ranulf smiled at the swarthy server who had stopped in her rounds of refilling glasses to welcome him. "Just looking for some friends."

Movement caught his eye. From a window booth where they'd been talking over two half-finished ales, Lethe and Moredecai turned at the sound of his voice.

A moment later, Ranulf slipped into Lethe's side of the booth and leaned back comfortably, crossing his feet on the opposite bench beside Mordecai. Sitting down felt better than he cared to admit. It occurred to the captain that he was tiring rather easily. He stuffed the notion to the back of his mind. "Man, it feels good not to have anywhere to be until tomorrow morning."

Mordecai grinned. "Welcome back."

"Thanks. Didja guys have fun shopping?"

"Grrrr,_ 'fun'?_"

Ranulf laughed.

"Not a big shopper, Mordecai?"

"I may be big, but I am not a 'big shopper'."

"Fair enough."

Small talked flowed for a few minutes until a general sentiment of hunger was established, at which point Ranulf excused himself from the table to order a large meal and a beer.

"What'd you do with yourself this evening, Ranulf?" Lethe asked over a mouthful of potatoes.

Ranulf washed his own food down with beer and wiped his mouth with the back of a sleeve. "Oh, you know. Wandered around, people watched, made friends with a few sailors playing dice, pondered life over the sunset."

Lethe smirked and Mordecai laughed. "Hrmm, all in a day's work, yes?"

"You bet, Mordecai. It's kinda unreal to see this place so different from the last time I've been here. Gotta say, commerce sometimes does wonders to a podunk little town."

Lethe's expression was carefully blank. "Not to steer the conversation away from… commerce, but did you get anything for that side of yours?"

The captain made a face and coughed. "Cough! Killjoy! Cough!"

"You winced earlier when you sat down, Ranulf."

"Yeah, it's not that bad."

"Just answer the damned question."

"Oops."

Ranulf felt Lethe stiffen next to him. "Why won't you take care of yourself?"

"Can we not talk about this right now?"

"Why not?"

He scratched the back of his head. "Because I just want to enjoy my beer now and worry about that… not now."

The captain carefully avoided Lethe's eyes to watch the little bubbles in his drink. He noted Mordecai's glance out the dark window and chose to ignore that, too. Truth be told, he had been trying all evening not to think about his knife wound and Lethe's abrupt mention of it made him aware of two annoying facts. Fact 1: the hole in his gut still existed—surprise! And fact 2: he had not, in fact, thought to scrounge around town for more meds.

"I gotta pee."

Ranulf was jolted from his reverie by Lethe's candid statement and movement to his right. He scooted out of the booth to allow her to leave, watching her bemusedly before scooting back in again after she was out of sight. "What's eating her?"

"Ranulf…"

"Okay, okay, geez!" Ranulf's eyes sparked as he planted his elbows on the table and rested his chin firmly in his upturned palms. He sighed. "Can't you guys just pretend along every once-in-a-while?"

Mordecai watched him thoughtfully, filling most of his side of the table with his bulky form. "Grrrr, not at the cost of you hurting yourself more."

"It's just medicine. This whole trip is so I can stop hurting myself more."

"There is a time and place for everything. Hrrm, you keep forgetting to cover necessities. That puts all the worry on Lethe and Mordecai instead."

"Don't worry about me."

Moredecai laughed. "How can we not? You are not even thinking well."

"I'm thinking just fine."

Mordecai arched his eyebrows. "You do not even listen."

Ranulf grinned with slight exasperation. "I'm listening right now. I just think you're both making too big of a deal out of this whole thing."

"Maybe."

Ranulf narrowed his eyes and poked at the food left on the table. "That's what I think." When Mordecai didn't answer right away, he made a face. "Okay, so maybe I'm being just a little irresponsible. But it's not a big deal. How much good is a little more herbal remedy going to do if it can't even fix the problem?"

"Maybe not much. But…" Mordecai's face screwed into a pattern of creases as he stared at the grain of the table momentarily. Then his eyes snapped up to meet Ranulf's. "You almost died."

"I know."

"Grrrr, stop talking!"

A few patrons a nearby tables turned at the sudden anger in Mordecai's deep voice. Ranulf keep his face carefully neutral, ignoring stares.

Mordecai's voice dropped again. "You. Almost died. Please… try to understand. You are still sick. You say you are fine. But that is not true. You are pale. You look like you are in pain. We are not stupid. And you keep pushing help away. Grrr, we will not stop trying to help until you accept that you need to help yourself. Am I clear?"

"…Okay." Ranulf swished the froth of his beer around the cup in a circular motion and took another swig. "Let's talk about something else."

"Okay."

By the time Lethe returned, the conversation had taken a more travel-oriented turn. Lethe seemed to have brushed past whatever had been on her mind earlier, because it did not take her long to join into the conversation as they discussed the boat they'd be boarding in the morning and their plans once on Crimean soil. The subject of the captain's injury did not come up the rest of the evening.

* * *

After an hour of staring at the back of his eyelids and not sleeping, Ranulf sat up with a sigh and swung his feet over the edge of the bed in the little room. Outside of the two windows the stars sparkled in the not-completely-dark night sky. The moon was out tonight, Ranulf recalled, but not visible from his vantage point. On the floor not far away lay a blanket-covered Mordecai, his stomach rising and falling with the steady breaths of contented sleep. Lethe was not in the room.

Ranulf rubbed his eyes and scratched his chest, the habit interrupted by the perturbing presence of bandage where skin should have been and the sudden recollection of his dully throbbing injury.

Again.

Couldn't a guy ever get a break?

Ranulf laughed lowly at the thought and hopped carefully out of bed. He felt around the floor for his button-up tank top with a foot and threw it on like a vest. With silent steps he circled Mordecai and exited the room, closing the door quietly behind him. A few more steps brought him across a hall, down a flight of stairs, and into the darkening lobby of the inn.

The bar was closed. Most of the guests had turned in for the night, either to their rented room or to their own residences in town. A few cat-eared figures still milled around, seated comfortably and talking in casually short intervals in low voices. One couple still sat in a booth table, obviously unaware of the passage of time, their empty glasses forgotten on the table in front of them. Another man lounged comfortably in one of the coziest chairs of the lobby, the steady movement of his torso indicatory of sleep.

Ranulf turned his attention to the dying embers of the big fire that had warmed the room earlier and found himself smiling. Beside the fire pit sat Lethe, legs crossed. She wore her loose pale night shirt, evidence of a mind-change somewhere along the process of trying to go to bed. In one hand she held a stick of kindling, which she used to poke absently at one of the embers. Her expression was sleepily thoughtful.

Ranulf settled onto the ground beside her and watched her progress on the ember.

Lethe poked around a bit more before speaking: "Couldn't sleep?"

"Nah. You?"

She shrugged. "Guess not."

"Hah."

"Hmm?"

"You know what's funny?"

"What?"

"When I saw you sitting here, I realized that it always makes me happy whenever I see you. Even if you're pissed at me."

Lethe's movements stopped. "I'm not pissed at you."

"Really?"

"Yeah. I just get frustrated sometimes. You're exasperating."

He laughed. "I guess so."

Lethe's kindling stick started moving again as she stared straight ahead. "Moredecai and I picked up some drugs for you. If it starts hurting too much again."

"Thanks. Moredecai told me about that in the room earlier. You'll be pleased to know that I'm already a little more doped up than I was before."

"Glad to hear it."

Ranulf shifted his attention away from the ember, up Lethe's arm and onto her profile, which was mostly obscured by her hair. "Hey, I'm sorry."

Lethe frowned and turned to look at him. "For what?"

"For being an insensitive asshole, I suppose. Sorry to make you worry about me."

"Oh, that. Nothing new."

Ranulf laughed lowly. "But really."

"You're fine."

He continued to watch her blank expression. She felt distant, and it was suddenly important to him that he make her understand that _he_ understood.

He touched her wrist, above the kindling hand. "Lethe, I don't want to push you away."

Lethe's expression didn't change. "…Really, it's fine. I overreacted. I've been doing a lot of that recently."

"Yeah, me, too."

She didn't say anything else, and he moved his hand off of her wrist, clasping it with his other and hunkering closer to the remnants of the fire.

Lethe's mouth twitched. A little frown tipped her brows. "Look, Ranulf. Um…"

Ranulf glanced in her direction, and she cocked her head, avoiding his eyes briefly before facing him with a rather clear expression.

"Maybe I don't tell you this enough, but—hell, I know I don't tell you this enough." She laughed self-depreciatingly. "Yes. Um. You should know that I care about you a lot. A lot of people care about you a lot. But I'd be a major mess if anything happened to you." She turned back to poking the fire. "So I'd appreciate it if you took care of yourself."

Ranulf watched her, his expression blank.

She glanced up to calculate his reaction, then continued in a bit of a rush as if the admission had been a little more than she'd meant to say. "I mean, obviously I've been dealing with your injury rather poorly. Hah, just imagine how well I'd be dealing with something worse. It was just really weird to face your mortality. I hadn't ever really thought about it. I never wanted to think about it. In the back of your mind, you know it's always a possibility. Especially since we're soldiers. It comes with the territory.

"And then…" Lethe's body was tense, but she couldn't completely suppress a little shudder and catch in her voice. She seemed annoyed and when she spoke again, her voice was hard and monotone. "And then I was thinking about Mom and Dad again. That was such a long time ago. And how you've been in my life for so long that I've probably been taking you for granted." Her motions over the fire got choppier as she struggled to sort out her thoughts, little sparks flying from where she attacked the smoldering wood. "And maybe I'm being too overbearing. I'll try to ease up. I'm just… dealing."

She bit her lip and stared at the embers, the warm reds of the dying fire lighting up her fine features from below. "Goddess damn it, I've grown soft."

There was nothing to say.

She looked so small. Ranulf stared at her steady progress on the fire a moment longer, then stood up, walked behind her, and settled back down to the floor. With a sigh he wrapped his arms around Lethe's thin body and pulled her into a back-hug, nestling his face into the nape of her neck. She smelled like pine. It was a good smell. He pushed that thought to the back of his mind before he could over-think it and closed his eyes.

Lethe's free hand reached quickly up to grasp his, squeezing them tightly. He listened to her steady heartbeat and felt her shiver once.

It felt right to hold her.

Ranulf was a protector by nature, time and again putting his own neck on the line for the causes he believed in and the people he cared about. But it was somehow different with Lethe. He had been there for her as long as he could remember—maybe looking out for her best interests had become so second nature to him that doing so rarely registered as a thought in his mind anymore. But now the awareness of how deeply he wanted to keep Lethe safe burst to the forefront of his consciousness. The notion was almost ironic—they both so often found themselves in life-threatening situations due to their line of work and dispositions. He could hardly look after himself let alone the free-spirited, brash, tough lieutenant. But he also knew that it was important he try.

"I'm not going anywhere, Lethe."

He felt her nod once.

They sat quietly for a long time. Lethe's hand had stopped moving, stick abandoned. Ranulf felt the tension seep slowly out of the girl's body as he continued to hold her. He had lost all sense of whether or not there were still people in the lobby. The fire grew darker by the minute, its faint crackling interrupted at interval by creakings of the worn inn.

After an interminable amount of time, the captain realized with a slight start that his eyes had closed and he was likely to fall completely asleep quite comfortably right there on the lobby floor. He gave Lethe a little squeeze.

She must have been nodding off as well, because she gave a little start at the sudden pressure. "Hmm?"

He laughed quietly. "Wanna head upstairs?"

"Upstairs?" She sounded groggy.

"Unless you want the proprietor waking us up tomorrow morning with a broom."

"…That wouldn't be very hospitable. We did pay for the stay."

He laughed again and began to disentangle his arms from around her. A slight tightening sensation gripped his chest.

Lethe grunted, blinking reluctantly. Her brow furrowed in sleepy thought for a millisecond.

"I don't really feel like stairs right now," she stated finally. With a little shrug, she spread out on the ground, back to Ranulf, and curled into a loose fetal position. "You can collect me tomorrow morning on your way out, Captain."

Ranulf started bemusedly at her, across the lobby toward the staircase, and back at Lethe. In all honesty, he wanted nothing more than to just curl up next to her and snuggle. He didn't even bother trying to push that thought away, and instead grinned that the word "snuggle" should be associated in any way with Lethe.

But the weird thing was…it didn't actually seem that unbelievable anymore. He knew that the change hadn't come overnight, but it had just recently fully struck him that Lethe was not the cold-as-ice single-minded warrior that she had once been. Something had changed. It had probably started with Ike's influence all those years ago, but it hadn't stopped there.

He made up his mind before the more rational part of his brain could swing into operation again.

"Can I stay down here with you?"

"Yup."

He settled comfortably in behind her again. When, a few minutes later, she yawned and shifted closer to him, Ranulf smiled and moved an arm over her waist into a loose hug.

"I'm glad you decided to come downstairs," Lethe mumbled so quietly that he almost didn't hear it.

"Me, too." He didn't say anything for a long moment. "I care about you a lot, you know."

"I know."

Her breathing deepened briefly thereafter. The warmth of Lethe's form spread along his body, suffocating the constant throb in his gut, and culminating in an inordinately happy buzz in his brain. Along with this flitted the vague thought that he may have just complicated his life quite dramatically given the amount of time it had taken him to do so.

It also occurred to the captain with a sort of dreamy amusement that it was ironic he'd even bothered to pay for a room, seeing as how two-thirds of their company seemed to prefer a lobby floor.

* * *

**Author's Note**

Life's been pretty crazy for the past year! I'm a senior in college, had an insane summer working at a national park, and am pretty much figuring out my future. Graduation's around the corner and things are pretty different now.

I actually hadn't planned on continuing this story. My writing style has changed so much. As have my thoughts on life and philosophy in general. It just felt weird to consider working on something I'd started as quite a different person.

However, I think I'll forever be in love with these characters. And when I saw in my inbox that people still were interested in seeing where the story would go, I decided to write some more. Sorry if anything from this point on seems different from former material—again, style changes and such. If there seem to be some continuity errors, let me know! Thank you for your support by the way, guys. :)


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